. 

•••••-•Jj:         'H'*«itH'ii"**irifi' 


THE  KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 


"An  unusually  severe  pitch  .  .  .  had  lifted  the  big,  throbbing  screw 

nearly  to  the  surface."  (See  page  173.) 


THE  KIPLING   READER 

)n 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,  l8gi,   1894,    1895,    1896,    1897,  1898,  1899,   1903,  1905,  1906,  1907,  IQIO,  1913 
BY  RUD YARD  KIPLING 

COPYRIGHT,  1891 
BY  RUD  YARD  KIPLING  AND  WALCOTT  HALF.STIER 

COPYRIGHT,  1896,  1897 
BY  THE  CENTURY  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1892,  1893 
BY  MACMILLAN  AND  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1895,  1898 
BY  PERRY  MASON  AND  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  IQOS 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 


IF —  (from  "Rewards  and  Fairies")    ......  3 

THE  BOLD  TRENTICE          .        .        .        .       . .        .        .        .  5 

AN  UNQUALIFIED  PILOT      ........  16 

A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH    (from  "Puck  of  Pook's  Hill")  37 

ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  (from  "Puck  of  Pook's  Hill")    ...  44 

THE  WINGED  HATS  (from  "Puck  of  Pook's  Hill")       ...  63 

THE  BURNING  OFTHE  SARAH  SANDS  (from  "Rewards  and  Fairies")  82 

BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  (from  "Rewards  and  Fairies")       .         .  91 

PHILADELPHIA  (from  "Rewards  and  Fairies")     .         .         .         .  113 

.007  (from 'The  Day's  Work") 115 

THE  EXPLORER  (from  'The  Five  Nations")         ....  136 

THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK  (from  "From  Sea  to  Sea")          .        .  141 

THE  COASTWISE  LIGHTS  (from  "The  Seven  Seas")      .        .        .  148 

ATRIP  ACROSS  A  CONTINENT  (from  "Captains  Courageous")    .  150 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  DEAD  (from  'The  Seven  Seas")      .        .        .  156 

THE  NIGHT  RIDE  TO  THE  Cow's  MOUTH  (from  "The  Naulahka")  159 

THE  LAST  RHYME  OF  TRUE  THOMAS   (from  "The  Seven  Seas")  163 

THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  (from  'The  Day's  Work")     .  169 
THE  BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST  (from  "Ballads  and  Barrack 

Room  Ballads") 189 

RECESSIONAL  (from  'The  Five  Nations") 195 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

"An  unusually  severe  pitch  .  .  .  had  lifted  the  big,  throb- 
bing screw  nearly  to  the  surface." 

Frontispiece 

"  There's  where  you  meet  hunters,  and  trappers  from  the 
Circuses,  prodding  along  chained  bears  and  muzzled 
wolves  " .  46 

"  Then  they  made  the  sign  which  no  Indian  makes  outside 

of  the  Medicine  Lodges  " no 

"  He  took  the  eighty-foot  bridge  without  the  guard-rail  like 

a  hunted  cat  on  the  top  of  a  fence  " 128 

The  Yellowstone  Valley 144 

"  In  the  North  by  the  torn  berg-edges  " 156 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

The  editors  of  this  book  wish  to  extend  their 
thanks  to  Mr.  Kipling,  The  Century  Company 
and  Messrs.  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company, 
whose  cooperation  has  made  this  book  possible. 
It  is  hoped  that  the  volume  will  lead  many 
readers  to  the  beautiful  and  stimulating  world 
of  literature  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  created. 


IF 

IF  YOU  can  keep  your  head  when  all  about  you 
Are  losing  theirs  and  blaming  it  on  you; 
If  you  can  trust  yourself  when  all  men  doubt  you, 
But  make  allowance  for  their  doubting  too; 
If  you  can  wait  and  not  be  tired  by  waiting, 

Or  being  lied  about,  don't  deal  in  lies, 
Or  being  hated  don't  give  way  to  hating, 
And  yet  don't  look  too  good,  nor  talk  too  wise: 

If  you  can  dream  —  and  not  make  dreams  your  master; 

If  you  can  think  —  and  not  make  thoughts  your  aim, 
If  you  can  meet  with  Triumph  and  Disaster 

And  treat  those  two  impostors  just  the  same; 
If  you  can  bear  to  hear  the  truth  you've  spoken 

Twisted  by  knaves  to  make  a  trap  for  fools, 
Or  watch  the  things  you  gave  your  life  to,  broken, 

And  stoop  and  build  'em  up  with  worn-out  tools; 

If  you  can  make  one  heap  of  all  your  winnings 

And  risk  it  on  one  turn  of  pitch-and-toss, 
And  lose,  and  start  again  at  your  beginnings 

And  never  breathe  a  word  about  your  loss; 
If  you  can  force  your  heart  and  nerve  and  sinew 

To  serve  your  turn  long  after  they  are  gone, 
And  so  hold  on  when  there  is  nothing  in  you 

Except  the  Will  which  says  to  them:     ''Hold  on!" 

3 


4          KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

If  you  can  talk  with  crowds  and  keep  your  virtue, 

Or  walk  with  Kings  —  nor  lose  the  common  touch, 
If  neither  foes  nor  loving  friends  can  hurt  you, 

If  all  men  count  with  you,  but  none  too  much; 
If  you  can  fill  the  unforgiving  minute 

With  sixty  seconds'  worth  of  distance  run, 
Yours  is  the  Earth  and  everything  that's  in  it, 

And  —  which  is  more  —  you'll  be  a  Man.  my  son! 


THE  BOLD  'PRENTICE 

AN  INDIAN  RAILWAY  STORY  OF  HOW  YOUNG  OTTLEY 
EARNED  HIS  LOCOMOTIVE 

YOUNG  OTTLEY'S  father  came  to  Calcutta  in  1857 
as  fireman  on  the  first  locomotive  ever  run  by  the 
D.  I.  R.,  the  largest  Indian  railway.  He  spoke  broad 
Yorkshire,  but  young  Ottley,  being  born  in  India,  talked 
the  clipped  singsong  of  half-castes  and  English-speaking 
natives.  When  he  was  fifteen  years  old  the  D.  I.  R.  took 
him  into  their  service  as  an  apprentice  in  the  locomotive 
repair  department  of  the  Ajaibpore  Workshops,  and  he 
became  one  of  a  gang  of  three  or  four  white  men  and  nine 
or  ten  natives. 

There  were  scores  of  such  gangs,  each  with  its  own  hoisting 
and  overhead  cranes,  jack-screws,  vises  and  lathes,  and 
their  work  was  to  mend  locomotives  and  to  teach  the  appren- 
tices to  behave.  But  the  apprentices  threw  screws  and  nuts 
at  one  another,  chalked  caricatures  of  unpopular  foremen 
on  buffer-bars  and  discarded  boilers,  and  did  as  little  as  they 
could. 

They  were  nearly  all  sons  of  old  employees  of  the  Company, 
living  with  their  parents  in  the  white  bungalows  of  Steam 
Road,  or  Church  Road,  or  Albert  Road  —  broad  avenues  of 
pounded  brick  bordered  by  palms  and  crotons  and  bamboos 
and  bougainvilleas  that  made  up  the  railway  town  of  Ajaib- 

5 


6        KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

pore.  They  had  never  seen  the  sea  or  a  steamer;  half  their 
talk  was  made  up  of  Hindustani  slang;  they  were  all  volun- 
teers in  the  D.  I.  R.'s  railway  corps  —  gray  uniform  with 
red  facings  —  and  their  talk  was  exclusively  about  engines 
and  the  Company. 

They  all  hoped  to  become  engine-drivers  earning  eighteen 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  therefore  they  despised  the  clerks 
in  the  Stores  and  Audit  and  Traffic  departments,  and  ducked 
them  when  they  met  at  the  Company's  big  swimming  bath. 

There  were  no  strikes  or  tie-ups  on  the  D.  I.  R.  for  the 
reason  that  the  ten  or  twelve  thousand  natives  and  two  or 
three  thousand  whites  were  doing  their  best  to  turn  the 
Company's  employ  into  a  caste  in  which  their  sons  and 
relatives  would  be  sure  of  positions  and  pensions  for  evermore. 
Everything  in  India  crystallizes  into  a  caste  sooner  or  later  — 
the  big  jute  and  cotton  mills,  the  leather,  harness,  and  opium 
factories,  the  coal-mines  and  the  dockyards  —  till  by  the 
third  or  fourth  generation  the  heads  of  these  concerns  control 
not  only  cheap  labor  but  inherited  instincts  for  a  certain 
kind  of  work,  which  no  money  can  buy.  Later  on,  when 
India  begins  to  be  heard  from  as  the  manufacturing  country 
of  the  world,  the  Labor  Unions  of  other  lands  will  learn 
something  about  the  beauty  of  caste,  which  will  greatly 
interest  and  astonish  them. 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  D.  I.  R.  decided  that  it  would 
be  cheaper  to  employ  native  drivers  as  much  as  possible, 
and  the  "Sheds,"  as  they  called  the  repair  department,  felt 
the  change  acutely;  for  a  native  driver  could  misuse  his  engine 
more  curiously  than  any  six  monkeys.  The  Company  had 
not  then  unified  its  rolling  stock,  and  this  was  very  good  for 
apprentices  anxious  to  learn  because  there  were  perhaps 
twenty  types  of  locomotives  in  use. 

There  were  Hawthornes,  E  types,  O  types,  outside  cylin- 


THE  BOLD  'PRENTICE  7 

ders,  Spaulding  and  Cushman  double-enders  and  short-run 
Continental-built  tank  engines  with  many  others,  but  the 
native  drivers  burned  them  all  out  impartially,  and  the  appren- 
tices took  to  writing  remarks  in  Bengali  in  the  cab  where 
the  next  driver  would  be  sure  to  see  them. 

Young  Ottley  worked  with  the  others,  but  his  father,'  as 
an  old  pensioned  driver,  taught  him  a  great  deal,  that  he 
could  not  have  learned  in  the  Sheds,  about  the  insides  of 
locomotives;  and  Olaf  Swanson,  the  red-headed  Swede  who 
ran  the  Government  mail,  the  big  Thursday  express,  from 
Serai  Rajgara  to  Guldee  Haut,  was  a  friend  of  the  Ottley 
family,  and  dined  with  them  every  Friday  night. 

Olaf  was  an  important  person,  for  besides  being  the  best 
of  the  mail  drivers,  he  was  Past  Master  of  the  big  railway 
Lodge,  "St.  Duncan's  in  the  East,"  secretary  of  the  Drivers' 
Provident  Association,  Captain  in  the  D.  I.  R.  Volunteer 
Corps,  and  —  an  author. 

He  had  written  a  book  in  what  he  called  English,  and  had 
had  it  printed  at  his  own  expense  in  the  ticket-printing 
department. 

Some  of  the  copies  were  buff  and  green,  and  some  were 
pink  and  blue,  and  some  were  yellow  and  brown;  for  Olaf 
liked  cheapness,  and  wrapping-paper  was  cheaper  than  proper 
book  paper.  It  was  called  "The  Art  of  Road  Locos  Repair, 
or  the  Young  Drivers'  Wademecome,"  and  was  dedicated  to 
a  man  of  the  name  of  Swedenborg. 

It  covered  every  conceivable  accident  that  could  happen 
to  an  engine  on  the  road,  and  gave  a  rough  and  ready  remedy 
for  it;  but  you  had  to  understand  Olaf's  English,  as  well  as 
all  the  technical  talk  about  engines,  to  make  head  or  tail 
of  it,  and  you  had  also  to  know  personally  every  engine  on 
the  D.  I.  R.;  for  the  "Wademecome"  was  full  of  what  might 
be  called  "locomotive  allusions." 


8        KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Olaf  was  immensely  proud  of  his  book,  and  would  pin 
young  Ottley  in  a  corner  and  make  him  learn  whole  pages  — 
it  was  written  question-and-answer  fashion  —  by  heart. 

"Never  mind  what  she  means,"  Olaf  would  shout.  "You 
learn  word-perfect,  and  she  shall  help  you  in  the  Sheds.  I 
drive  the  Mail  —  the  Mail  of  all  India  —  and  what  I  say  is 
true." 

"But  I  do  not  wish  to  learn  the  book,"  said  young  Ottley, 
who  thought  he  saw  quite  enough  of  engines  in  business  hours. 

"You  shall  learn!  I  haf  great  friendships  for  your  father, 
and  so  I  shall  teach  you  if  you  like  or  not." 

Young  Ottley  submitted,  for  he  was  really  fond  of  Olaf, 
and  at  the  end  of  six  months'  teaching  hi  Olaf 's  peculiar  way 
began  to  see  that  the  "Wademecome"  might  be  a  very 
valuable  help  in  the  Repair  Sheds  when  broken-down  loco- 
motives of  a  new  type  came  in.  Olaf  gave  him  a  copy  bound 
in  cartridge  paper  and  edged  round  the  margins  with 
square-headed  manuscript  notes,  each  line  the  result  of 
years  of  experience  and  accidents. 

"There  is  nothing  hi  this  book,"  said  Olaf,  "that  I  have 
not  tried  in  my  time,  and  7  say  an  engine  is  like  the  body 
of  a  man.  So  long  as  there  is  steam  —  the  life,  you  see  — 
so  long,  if  you  know,  you  can  make  her  move  a  little  —  so!" 
He  waggled  his  head  slowly.  "Till  a  man  is  dead,  or  an 
engine  she  is  at  the  bottom  of  a  river,  you  can  do  something 
with  her.  Remember  that!  7  say  it  and  I  know." 

He  repaid  young  Ottley's  time  and  attention  by  using 
his  influence  to  get  him  made  a  sergeant  in  his  Volunteer 
Corps,  and  young  Ottley,  being  a  keen  volunteer  and  a  good 
shot,  stood  well  with  the  Company  in  the  matter  of  casual 
leave.  When  repairs  were  light  in  the  Sheds,  and  the  honor 
of  the  corps  had  to  be  upheld  at  a  shooting  match  at  some 
faraway  station  against  the  men  of  Agra  and  Bandikui,  the 


THE  BOLD  'PRENTICE  9 

narrow-gauge  railway  towns  of  the  west,  young  Ottley  would 
contrive  to  get  away. 

A  'prentice  never  dreams  of  paying  his  fare  on  any  railroad, 
least  of  all  when  he  is  in  uniform,  and  young  Ottley  was  prac- 
tically as  free  of  the  Indian  railway  system  as  any  member 
of  the  Supreme  Legislative  Council  who  wears  a  golden 
General  Pass  on  his  watchchain  and  can  ride  where  he  wishes. 

Late  in  the  September  of  his  nineteenth  year,  he  went 
north  to  attend  a  shooting  match,  elegantly  and  accurately 
dressed,  with  one  eighth  of  one  inch  of  white  collar  showing 
above  his  gray  uniform  stock,  and  his  rifle  polished  to 
match  his  sergeant's  sword  in  the  rack  above  him. 

The  Rains  were  out,  and  in  India  that  means  a  good  deal 
to  the  railways;  for  the  rain  falls  for  three  months  till  the 
whole  country  is  one  sea,  and  the  snakes  take  refuge  on  the 
embankment,  and  the  racing  floods  puff  out  the  brick  ballast 
from  under  the  iron  ties,  and  leave  the  rails  hanging  in  fan- 
tastic loops.  Then  the  trains  run  as  they  can,  and  the 
permanent-way  inspectors  spend  their  nights  flourishing 
about  in  trolleys  —  which  are  called  handcars  in  the  United 
States  —  and  everybody  is  covered  with  the  fire-red  rash  of 
prickly  heat. 

Young  Ottley  was  used  to  these  little  things  from  his 
birth,  and  all  that  he  regretted  was  that  his  friends  along 
the  line  were  so  draggled  and  dripping  and  sulky  that  they 
could  not  appreciate  his  gorgeousness;  for  he  considered  him- 
self very  consoling  to  behold  when  he  cocked  his  helmet 
over  one  eye  and  puffed  native-made  cigar  smoke  through 
his  nostrils.  Until  night  fell  he  read  the  works  of  Mr.  G.  W.  R. 
Reynolds,  which  are  sold  on  all  the  railway  bookstalls. 

Then  he  found  they  were  changing  engines  at  Guldee  Haut, 
and  old  Rustomjee,  a  Parsee,  was  the  new  driver,  with  Num- 
ber Forty  in  hand.  Young  Ottley  took  the  opportunity  to 


io       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

go  forward  and  tell  Rustomjee  exactly  what  they  thought  of 
him  in  the  Sheds,  where  the  'prentices  had  been  repairing 
some  of  his  carelessness  in  the  way  of  a  dropped  crown-sheet, 
I  think  they  called  it. 

Rustomjee  said  he  had  bad  luck  with  engines,  and  young 
Ottley  went  back  to  his  carriage  and  slept.  He  was  waked 
by  a  bang,  a  bump  and  a  stop,  and  saw,  on  the  opposite 
bunk,  a  lieutenant  who  was  traveling  north  in  charge  of  a 
detachment  of  some  twenty 'English  soldiers. 

" What's  that?"  said  the  lieutenant. 

"Rustomjee  has  blown  her  up,  perhaps,"  said  young 
Ottley,  and  dropped  out  into  the  wet,  the  lieutenant  at  his 
heels.  There  he  found  Rustomjee  sitting  by  the  side  of  the 
line,  nursing  a  scalded  foot  and  crying  aloud  that  he  was 
a  dead  man,  while  the  gunner-guard  —  who  is  a  kind  of 
conductor  —  looked  respectfully  at  the  roaring,  hissing  engine. 

"What  has  happened?"  said  young  Ottley,  by  the  light 
of  the  gunner-guard's  lantern. 

"Phut  gya  (She  has  gone  smash),"  said  Rustomjee. 

"Without  doubt,  but  where,  you  old  father  of  owls?" 

"Khudajhanta  (God  knows).  I  am  a  poor  man.  Number 
Forty  is  broke." 

Young  Ottley  jumped  into  the  cab  and  turned  off  all  the 
steam  he  could  find,  for  there  was  a  good  deal  of  it  escaping. 
Then  he  took  the  lantern  and  dived  under  the  driving-wheels, 
where  he  lay  face  up  investigating  among  spurts  of  hot 
water. 

"Doocid  plucky,"  said  the  officer.  "I  shouldn't  like  to  do 
that  myself .  What's  gone  wrong?  " 

"Cylinder  head  blown  off,  coupler-rod  twisted,  and  several 
more  things.  She  is  very  badly  wrecked.  Oah,  yes,  she  is 
a  total  wreck,"  said  young  Ottley,  between  the  spokes  of  the 
right-hand  driver. 


THE  BOLD  'PRENTICE  n 

"Doocid  awkward,"  said  the  lieutenant,  turning  up  his 
coat  collar  in  the  wet.  "What's  to  be  done?" 

Young  Ottley  came  out,  a  rich  black  all  over  his  red  and 
gray  uniform,  and  drummed  on  his  teeth  with  his  ringer 
nails,  while  the  rain  fell  and  the  native  passengers  shouted 
questions,  and  old  Rustomjee  told  the  gunner-guard  to  walk 
back  seven  or  eight  miles  and  wire  for  help. 

"I  cannot  swim,"  said  the  gunner-guard.  "Go  and  lie 
down." 

"Olaf  Swanson  will  be  waiting  at  Serai  Rajgara  with  the 
mail.  He  will  be  angry,"  said  young  Ottley.  Then  he  dived 
under  the  engine  again  with  a  flare-lamp  and  sat  cross-legged, 
like  a  Hindoo  idol,  considering  things  and  wishing  he  had 
Olaf's  "Wademecome"  in  his  valise. 

Number  Forty  was  an  old  reconstructed  Mutiny  engine, 
with  Frenchified,  cock-nosed  cylinders  and  a  profligate  allow- 
ance of  underpinning.  She  had  been  through  the  sheds 
several  times,  and  young  Ottley  had  heard  much  about  her, 
but  nothing  to  her  credit. 

"You  can  lend  me  some  men?"  he  said  at  last  to  the 
officer.  "Then  I  think  we  shall  disconnect  this  side  and 
perhaps,  notwithstanding,  she  will  move.  We  will  try." 

"Of  course  we  will.  Hi!  Sergeant!"  said  the  lieutenant. 
"Turn  out  your  men  here,  and  do  what  this  —  officer  tells 
you." 

"Officer!"  said  one  of  the  privates,  under  his  breath. 
"Didn't  think  I  ever  'listed  to  serve  under  a  sergeant  of 
volunteers.  Come  on,  men.  Here's  an  'orrible  street  acci- 
dent. Looks  like  mother's  teakettle  broke.  What  d'yer 
expect  us  to  do,  Mister  Sergeant?" 

Young  Ottley  explained  his  plan  of  campaign  while  he  was 
ravaging  Rustomjee's  tool-chest,  and  then  the  men  crawled 
and  knelt  and  pushed  and  levered  and  hauled  and  turned 


12       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

spanners  under  the  engine,  as  young  Ottley  told  them.  What 
he  wanted  was  to  disconnect  the  right  cylinder  altogether, 
and  get  off  a  badly  twisted  coupler-rod.  Practically  Num- 
ber Forty's  right  side  was  paralyzed,  and  they  pulled  out 
enough  iron-mongery  from  underneath  her  to  build  a  small 
bridge. 

Young  Ottley  knew  his  instructions  by  heart  from  the 
"Wademecome,"  but  even  he  began  to  feel  a  little  alarmed 
as  he  saw  what  came  away  from  the  engine  and  was  stacked 
by  the  side  of  the  line.  After  forty  minutes  of  the  hardest 
kind-  of  work  it  seemed  to  him  that  everything  was  clear, 
and  that  he  might  venture  to  give  her  steam.  She  leaked 
at  every  pore,  but  she  moved  —  moved  as  though  every 
foot  would  be  her  last  —  and  the  soldiers  cheered. 

Rustomjee  flatly  refused  to  help  in  anything  so  revolu- 
tionary as  driving  a  locomotive  on  one  cylinder,  because,  he 
said,  heaven  had  decreed  that  he  should  always  be  unlucky, 
even  with  sound  machines.  Moreover,  as  he  pointed  out, 
the  pressure-gauge  was  jumping  up  and  down  like  a  bottle 
imp.  The  stoker  had  long  since  gone  away  into  the  night, 
for  he  was  a  prudent  man. 

"Doocid  queer  thing  altogether,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
"but  look  here,  if  you  like  I'll  chuck  on  the  coals  and  you 
can  drive  the  old  jigamaroo,  if  she'll  move." 

"Perhaps  she  will  blow  up,"  said  the  gunner-guard. 

"Shouldn't  at  all  wonder.  Where's  the  shovel?"  said  the 
lieutenant. 

"Oah,  no.  She's  all  right  according  to  the  book,  I  think," 
said  young  Ottley.  "Now  we  will  go  to  Serai  Rajgara  —  if 
she  moves." 

She  moved  with  a  long  ssghee!  ssghee!  of  exhaustion.  She 
moved  at  least  seven  miles  an  hour,  and  —  for  the  floods  were 
all  over  the  line  —  the  voyage  began. 


THE  BOLD  'PRENTICE  13 

The  lieutenant  stoked  four  shovels  to  the  minute,  spreading 
them  thin,  and  Number  Forty  made  noises  like  a  dying  cow, 
and  young  Ottley  discovered  that  it  was  one  thing  to  run 
a  healthy  switching-locomotive  up  and  down  the  yards  for 
fun,  and  quite  another  to  drive  a  very  sick  one  over  an 
unknown  road  in  absolute  darkness  and  pouring  rain.  But 
they  felt  their  way  along  with  their  hearts  in  their  mouths 
till  they  came  to  a  distant  signal,  and  whistled  frugally, 
having  no  steam  to  spare. 

"That  might  be  Serai  Rajgara,"  said  young  Ottley,  hope- 
fully. 

"Looks  like  the  Suez  Canal  with  a  steamer  in  it,"  said  the 
lieutenant.  "I  say,  when  an  engine  kicks  up  that  sort  of 
noise  she's  a  little  impatient,  isn't  she?" 

"That  sort  of  noise"  was  a  full-powered,  furious  yelling 
whistle  half  a  mile  up  the  line. 

"That  is  the  down  mail,"  said  young  Ottley.  "We  have 
delayed  Olaf  two  hours  and  forty-five  minutes.  She  must 
surely  be  in  Serai  Rajgara." 

"Don't  wonder  she  wants  to  get  out  of  it,"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant. "  Golly,  what  a  country ! " 

The  line  was  under  water,  and  young  Ottley  sent  the  gunner- 
guard  on  to  find  the  switches  —  and  let  Number  Forty  into 
the  siding.  Then  he  followed  and  drew  up  with  a  doleful 
wop!  wop!  wop!  by  the  side  of  the  great  forty-five-ton  six- 
wheel  coupled,  eigh teen-inch  inside  cylinder  Number  Twenty- 
Five,  all  chocolate  and  lemon  and  lacquer,  standing  at  the 
head  of  the  down  mail. 

Olaf's  red  beard  flared  from  the  cab  like  a  danger-signal, 
and,  as  soon  as  they  were  within  range,  some  knobby  pieces 
of  Giridih  coal  whizzed  past  young  Ottley's  head. 

"Your  friend  mad?"  said  the  lieutenant,  ducking. 

"Aah!    You  fat  Parsee  pig!"  roared  Olaf.     "This  is  the 


i4       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

fifth  time  you  make  delay.  Three  hours'  delay  you  make 
me  —  Swanson  —  the  Mail !  Now  I  will  lose  more  time  to 
break  your  head."  He  swung  on  to  the  footplate  of  Number 
Forty. 

"Olaf!"  cried  young  Ottley,  and  Olaf  nearly  tumbled  back- 
ward. "Rustomjee  is  behind." 

"Of  course.  He  is  always.  But  you?  How  you  come 
here?" 

"Oah,  we  smashed  up.  I  have  disconnected  her,  and 
arrived  on  one  cylinder,  by  the  book.  We  are  only  a  diagram 
of  an  engine,  I  think." 

"My  Book!    My  very  good  Book!    The  'Wademecome 
Ottley,  you  are  a  fine  driver.      I  forgive  my  delays.      It  was 
worth.     Oh,  my  Book!     My  Book!"  and  Olaf  leaped  back 
to  Number  Twenty-Five,  shouting  things  about  Mr.  Sweden- 
borg  and  steam. 

"That  is  all  right,"  said  young  Ottley;  "but  where  is  Serai 
Rajgara?  We  want  assistance." 

"There  is  no  Serai  Rajgara.  The  water  is  five  feet  down 
the  embankment,  and  the  telegraph  office  has  fell  in.  I  will 
report  at  Purnool  Road.  Good  night.  Good  boy." 

The  mail  train  splashed  out  into  the  dark,  and  Ottley 
made  great  haste  to  let  off  all  the  steam  and  draw  the  fire. 
Number  Forty  had  done  enough  for  that  night. 

"Odd  chap,  that  friend  of  yours,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
when  Number  Forty  stood  empty  and  disarmed  in  the 
gathering  waters.  "What  do  we  do  now?  Swim?" 

"Oah,  no.  At  ten  forty-five  this  morning  that  is  coming, 
an  engine  will  perhaps  arrive  from  Purnool  Road  and  take 
us  north.  Now  we  will  go  and  lie  down  and  sleep.  You 
see  there  is  no  Serai  Rajgara.  You  could  get  a  cup  of  tea 
here  once  on  a  time." 

"Oh,  my  aunt,  what  a  country!"  said  the  lieu  tenant  as  he 


THE  BOLD  'PRENTICE  15 

followed  Ottley  to  the  carriage  and  lay  down  on  the  leather 
bunk. 

For  the  next  three  weeks  Olaf  Swanson  talked  of  nothing 
but  his  "  Wademecome "  and  young  Ottley.  What  he  said 
about  his  book  does  not  matter,  but  the  compliments  of  a 
mail-driver  are  things  to  be  repeated,  as  they  were,  to  people 
in  high  authority,  the  masters  of  many  engines.  So  young 
Ottley  was  sent  for,  and  he  came  from  the  Sheds  to  the 
Superintender's  office,  wondering  which  of  his  sins  had  been 
found  out  this  time. 

It  was  a  loop-line  near  Ajaibpore,  where  he  could  by 
no  possibility  come  to  harm.  It  was  light  but  steady  traffic, 
and  a  first-class  superintendent  was  in  charge,  but  it  was  a 
driver's  billet,  to  be  made  permanent  after  six  months.  As  a 
new  engine  was  ordered  for  the  loop,  the  foreman  of  the 
Sheds  told  young  Ottley  he  might  look  through  the  stalls 
and  suit  himself  with  a  machine. 

He  waited  till  Olaf  came  in,  one  week's  end,  and  the  two 
went  off  to  the  Sheds  together,  old  Olaf  clucking,  "Look! 
Look!  Look!"  like  a  hen,  and  they  chose  a  nearly  new 
Hawthorne,  No.  239,  that  Olaf  recommended.  Then  Olaf 
went  away,  to  give  young  Ottley  his  chance  to  order  her  to 
the  cleaning-pit,  and  jerk  his  thumb  driver-fashion  at  the 
cleaner  and  say,  as  he  turned  magnificently  on  his  heel, 
"Thursday,  eight  o'clock.  Understand?" 

That  was  almost  the  proudest  moment  of  his  life.  The 
proudest  was  when  he  pulled  out  of  Atami  Junction  through 
the  brickfields  on  his  way  to  his  loop,  and  passed  the  down 
mail,  with  Olaf  in  the  cab. 

They  say  in  the  Repair  Sheds  that  you  could  have  heard 
Number  Two  Hundred  and  Thirty-Nine's  whistle  from  Ra- 
neegunge  clear  to  Calcutta. 


AN  UNQUALIFIED  PILOT 

ALMOST  any  pilot  will  tell  you  that  his  work  is  much 
more  difficult  than  you  imagine;  but  the  pilots  of  the 
Hugli  know  that  they  have  one  hundred  miles  of  the 
most  dangerous  river  on  earth  running  through  their  hands  — 
the  Hugli  between  Calcutta  and  the  Bay  of  Bengal  —  and 
say  nothing.  Their  service  is  picked  and  sifted  as  carefully 
as  the  bench  of  the  Supreme  Court,  for  a  judge  can  only 
hang  the  wrong  man,  but  a  careless  pilot  can  lose  a  six  thou- 
sand ton  ship  with  crew  and  cargo  in  less  time  t"han  it  takes 
to  reverse  engines. 

There  is  very  little  chance  of  getting  off  again  when  once 
you  touch  in  the  furious  current  of  the  Hugli,  loaded  with 
all  the  fat  silt  of  the  fields  of  Bengal,  where  soundings  change 
two  feet  between  tides,  and  new  channels  make  or  efface 
themselves  in  a  season.  Men  have  fought  the  Hugli  for  two 
hundred  years,  till  now  the  river  owns  a  huge  building,  with 
drawing,  survey,  and  telegraph  departments,  devoted  to  its 
exclusive  service,  as  well  as  a  body  of  wardens,  who  are 
called  Port  Commissioners. 

They  and  their  officers  govern  absolutely,  from  the  Hugli 
bridge  to  the  last  buoy  at  Pilots  Ridge,  one  hundred  and  forty 
miles  away,  far  out  in  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  where  the  steamers 
first  pick  up  the  pilots  from  the  pilot  brig  that  always  awaits 
them  there. 

16 


AN  UNQUALIFIED  PILOT  17 

A  Hugli  pilot  does  not  bring  newspapers  aboard  a  ship,  or 
scramble  out  of  a  dinghy,  up  rope  ladders.  He  arrives  in 
his  best  clothes,  with  a  native  servant  or  assistant  to  wait 
on  him,  and  he  behaves  as  a  man  should  who  can  earn  ten 
thousand  dollars  a  year  after  twenty  years'  apprenticeship. 
He  has  beautiful  rooms  in  the  Port  Office  at  Calcutta,  and 
generally  keeps  himself  to  the  society  of  his  own  profession, 
for  though  the  telegraph  reports  the  more  important  soundings 
of  the  river  daily,  there  is  much  to  be  learned  between  trip 
and  trip,  which  only  his  fellow  pilots  can  tell  him. 

Some  millions  of  tons  of  shipping  must  find  their  way  to 
and  from  Calcutta  each  twelvemonth,  and  unless  the  Hugli 
were  watched  as  closely  as  men  watch  the  Atlantic  cables, 
there  is  a  fear  that  it  might  silt  up  as  it  has  silted  up  round 
the  old  Dutch  and  Portuguese  ports  twenty  and  thirty  miles 
behind  Calcutta.  So  the  Port  Office  sounds  and  scours  and 
dredges,  and  builds  spurs  and  devices  for  coaxing  currents, 
and  labels  all  the  buoys  with  their  proper  letters,  and  attends 
to  the  semaphores  and  the  lights  and  the  drum,  ball  and  cone 
storm  signals,  and  the  pilots  of  the  Hugli  do  the  rest;  but, 
in  spite  of  all  the  care,  the  Hugli  swallows  a  ship  or  two  every 
year. 

When  Martin  Trevor  had  followed  this  life  from  his  boy- 
hood; when  he  had  risen  to  be  a  senior  pilot,  entitled  to 
bring  up  to  Calcutta  the  big  ships,  drawing  over  twenty-four 
feet,  that  can  (or  could  till  a  few  years  ago)  only  pass  by 
special  arrangement;  when  he  had  talked  nothing  but  Hugli 
and  pilotage  all  his  life,  he  was  exceedingly  indignant  that 
his  only  son  should  decide  upon  following  his  father's  pro- 
fession. Mrs.  Trevor  had  died  when  the  boy  was  a  child, 
and  as  he  grew  older,  Trevor,  in  the  intervals  of  his  business, 
noticed  that  the  lad  was  often  by  the  riverside  —  no  nice 
place  for  a  boy.  Once,  when  he  asked  Jim  if  he  took  any 


i8       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

interest  in  ships,  the  boy  replied  by  reeling  off  the  list  of  all 
the  house-flags  on  the  steamers  then  in  sight  at  the  moorings. 

"You'll  come  to  a  bad  end,  Jim,"  said  Trevor.  "Little 
boys  haven't  any  business  to  know  house-flags." 

"Oh,  Pedro  at  the  Sailors'  Home  taught  me.  He  says  you 
can't  begin  too  early." 

"At  what,  please?" 

"Piloting.  I'm  nearly  fourteen  now,  and  —  and  I  know 
where  all  the  shipping  in  the  river  is,  and  I  know  what  water 
there  was  yesterday  over  the  Mayapuf  Bar,  and  I've  been 
down  to  Diamond  Harbor,  oh,  a  hundred  times,  and  I've  — 

"You'll  go  to  school,  son,  and  learn  what  they  teach  you, 
and  you'll  turn  out  something  better  than  a  pilot,"  said  his 
father,  but  he  might  just  as  well  have  told  a  shovel-nosed 
porpoise  of  the  river  to  come  ashore  and  begin  life  as  a  hen. 
Jim  held  his  tongue;  he  noticed  that  all  the  best  pilots  of  the 
Port  Office  did  that;  and  devoted  his  young  attention  and 
all  his  spare  time  and  money  to  the  river  that  he  loved. 

Trevor's  son  became  as  well  known  as  the  Bankshall  itself, 
and  the  Port  Police  let  him  inspect  their  launches,  and  the 
tugboat  captains  had  always  a  place  for  him  at  their  table, 
and  the  mates  of  the  big  steam  dredgers  used  to  show  him 
how  the  machinery  worked,  and  there  were  certain  native 
rowboats  that  Jim  practically  owned;  and  he  extended  his 
young  patronage  to  the  railway  that  runs  to  Diamond  Harbor, 
forty  miles  down  the  river.  In  the  old  days  nearly  all  the 
East  India  Company's  ships  used  to  discharge  at  Diamond 
Harbor,  on  account  of  the  shoals  above,  but  now  the  ships 
go  straight  up  to  Calcutta,  and  they  have  only  some  moorings 
for  vessels  in  distress  there,  and  a  telegraph  service,  and  a 
harbor-master,  who  was  Jim's  intimate  friend. 

He  would  sit  in  the  office  and  listen  to  the  soundings  of  the 
shoals  as  they  were  reported  every  day,  and  attend  to  the 


AN  UNQUALIFIED  PILOT  19 

movements  of  the  steamers  up  and  down  (Jim  always  felt 
that  he  had  lost  something  if  any  boat  got  in  or  out  of  the 
river  without  his  knowing  it)  and  when  the  big  liners  with 
their  rows  of  shining  portholes,  tied  up  in  Diamond  Harbor 
for  the  night,  Jim  would  row  from  one  ship  to  the  other 
through  the  sticky  hot  air  and  the  buzzing  mosquitoes  and 
listen  respectfully  as  the  great  pilots  conferred  together. 

Once,  for  a  treat,  his  father  took  him  down  clear  out  to 
the  Sandheads  and  the  pilot  brig  there,  and  Jim  was  joyfully 
seasick  as  she  tossed  and  pitched  in  the  bay.  So  of  course 
he  had  to  go  down  to  the  brig  three  or  four  times  more  with 
friendly  pilots  till  he  had  quite  cured  his  weakness.  The 
cream  of  life,  though,  was  coming  up  in  a  tug  or  a  police 
boat  from  Diamond  Harbor  to  Calcutta,  over  the  "James 
and  Mary"  shoal  —  those  terrible  sands  christened  after  a 
royal  ship  they  sunk  two  hundred  years  ago.  They  are  made 
by  two  rivers  that  enter  the  Hugli  six  miles  apart  and  throw 
their  own  silt  across  the  silt  of  the  main  stream,  so  that 
with  each  turn  of  weather  and  tide  the  sands  shift  and  change 
like  clouds.  It  was  here  (the  tales  sound  much  worse  when 
they  are  told  in  the  rush  and  growl  of  the  muddy  waters) 
that  the  Countess  of  Stirling,  fifteen  hundred  tons,  touched 
and  capsized  in  ten  minutes,  and  a  two-thousand  ton  steamer 
in  two,  and  a  pilgrim  ship  in  five,  and  another  steamer  liter- 
ally in  an  instant,  holding  down  her  men  with  the  masts 
and  shrouds  as  she  lashed  over.  When  a  ship  touches  on 
the  "James  and  Mary, "  the  river  knocks  her  down  and  buries 
her,  and  then  the  sands  quiver  all  around  her  and  reach 
out  under  water  and  take  new  shapes  —  all  dangerous. 

Young  Jim  would  lie  up  in  the  bows  of  the  tug  and  watch 
the  straining  buoys  kick  and  smother  in  the  coffee-colored 
current,  while  the  semaphores  and  flags  signaled  from  the 
bank  how  much  water  there  was  in  the  channel,  till  he  learned 


20       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

the  great  law  that  men  who  only  deal  with  men  can  afford 
to  be  careless  on  the  chance  of  their  fellow  men  being  like  them ; 
but  that  men  who  deal  with  things  dare  not  relax  for  an 
instant.  "And  that's  the  very  reason,"  old  McEwen  the 
pilot  said  to  him  once,  ''that  the  'James  and  Mary'  is  the 
safest  part  of  the  river,"  and  he  put  the  big  black  Bandoorah, 
that  draws  twenty-five  feet,  through  the  Eastern  Gut  with 
a  turban  of  white  foam  wrapped  round  her  forefoot  and  her 
screw  beating  as  steadily  as  his  own  heart. 

If  Jim  could  not  get  away  to  the  river  there  was  always 
the  big,  cool  Port  Office,  where  the  soundings  were  calculated 
and  the  maps  were  drawn;  or  the  Pilot's  room,  where  he 
could  lie  on  a  long  chair  and  listen  to  the  talk  about  the 
Hugli;  and  there  was  the  library,  where  if  you  had  money 
you  could  buy  charts  and  books  of  directions  against  the 
time  that  you  should  actually  steam  over  the  places  them- 
selves. It  was  exceedingly  hard  for  Jim  to  hold  the  list 
of  Jewish  kings  in  his  head,  and  he  was  more  than  uncertain 
as  to  the  end  of  the  verb  audio  if  you  followed  it  far  enough 
down  the  page,  but  he  could  keep  the  soundings  of  three 
channels  distinct  in  his  head  and,  what  is  more  confusing, 
the  changes  in  the  buoys  from  "Garden  Reach"  down  to 
Saugor,  as  well  as  the  greater  part  of  the  shipping  news  in 
the  Calcutta  Telegraph,  the  only  paper  he  ever  read. 

Unluckily,  you  cannot  peruse  about  the  Hugli  without 
money,  even  though  you  are  the  son  of  the  best  known  pilot 
on  the  river,  and  as  soon  as  Trevor  understood  how  his  son 
was  spending  his  time  he  cut  down  his  pocket  money  —  and 
Jim  had  a  generous  allowance.  In  his  extremity  Jim  took 
counsel  with  Pedro,  the  plum-colored  mulatto  at  the  Sailors' 
Home,  and  Pedro  was  a  bad  man.  He  introduced  Jim  to 
a  Chinaman  in  Muchuatollah,  one  of  the  worst  wards  in  the 
city  of  Calcutta,  and  the  Chinaman,  who  answered  to  the 


AN  UNQUALIFIED  PILOT  21 

name  of  Erh-Tze  when  he  was  not  smoking  opium,  and 
who  happened  to  be  master  of  a  big  junk,  talked  pigeon- 
English  to  Jim  for  an  hour  on  professional  business,  in  flat 
defiance  of  all  Port  regulations. 

"S'pose  you  take?     Can  do?"  he  said  at  last. 

Jim  considered  the  chances.  A  junk  he  knew  would  draw 
about  eleven  feet,  and  the  regular  fee  for  the  qualified  pilot 
outward  would  be  two  hundred  rupees.  On  the  one  hand 
Jim  was  by  no  means  a  qualified  pilot,  so  he  could  not  ask 
more  than  half.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  fully  certain 
of  a  thrashing  from  his  father  for  piloting  without  license. 
So  he  asked  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  rupees  to  allow 
for  the  beating,  and  Erh-Tze  beat  him  down  to  a  hundred 
and  twenty;  and  that  was  like  a  Chinaman  all  over.  The 
cargo  of  the  junk  was  worth  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  thousand 
rupees,  and  Erh-Tze  was  getting  enormous  freight  on  the 
coffins  of  thirty  or  forty  dead  Chinamen  whom  he  was  taking 
to  be  buried  in  their  native  country. 

Rich  Chinamen  will  pay  fancy  prices  for  this  service,  and 
they  have  a  superstition  that  the  iron  of  steamships  is  bad 
for  the  health  of  their  dead.  Erh-Tze's  junk  crept  up  from 
Singapore  via  Panang  and  Rangoon,  to  Calcutta,  where 
Erh-Tze  had  been  shocked  and  pained  by  the  pilotage  dues. 
This  time  he  was  going  out  at  a  reduction  with  Jim,  who, 
Pedro  had  told  him,  was  just  as  good  as  a  pilot.  The  risks  that 
a  Chinaman  will  run  to  save  five  rupees  are  not  small,  to 
save  seventy-five  rupees  he  will  —  but  you  shall  hear. 

Jim  knew  something  of  the  outside  of  junks,  but  he  was 
not  prepared  when  he  went  down  that  night  with  his  charts, 
for  the  confusion  of  cargo  and  coolies  and  coffins  and  clay- 
cooking  places,  and  other  things  that  h'ttered  her  decks. 
Jim  had  sense  enough  to  haul  her  rudder  up  a  few  feet;  for 
he  knew  that  a  junk's  rudder  goes  far  below  the  bottom, 


and  he  allowed  a  foot  extra  to  Erh-Tze's  estimate  of  her 
drafts  of  water.  Then  they  staggered  out  into  midstream 
very  early,  and  never  had  the  city  of  his  birth  looked  so  beau- 
tiful to  Jim  as  when  he  feared  he  might  never  come  back  to 
see  it  again. 

Going  down  "Garden  Reach"  he  discovered  that  the 
junk  would  answer  to  her  helm  if  you  put  it  over  enough, 
and  that  she  had  a  fair,  though  a  strictly  Chinese,  notion  of 
sailing.  He  took  charge  of  the  tiller  by  stationing  three 
Chinese  on  each  side  of  it,  and,  standing  a  little  forward, 
gathered  their  pigtails  into  his  hands,  three  right  and  three 
left,  as  though  they  had  been  the  yoke-lines  of  a  rowboat. 
Erh-Tze  almost  smiled  at  this;  he  felt  he  was  getting  good 
care  for  his  money,  and  he  took  a  neat  little  polished  bamboo 
to  keep  the  men  attentive,  for  he  said  to  Jim  this  was  no  time 
to  teach  the  crew  pigeon-English.  The  more  way  they 
could  get  on  the  junk  the  better  would  she  steer,  and  as  soon 
as  he  felt  a  little  confidence  in  her,  Jim  ordered  the  big  rustling 
mat  sails  to  be  hauled  up  tighter  and  tighter.  He  did  not 
know  their  names  —  at  least  any  name  that  would  be  likely 
to  interest  a  Chinaman  —  but  Erh-Tze  had  not  banged 
about  the  waters  of  the  Malay  Archipelago  for  nothing,  and 
as  he  went  forward  with  his  little  bamboo,  the  sails  rose 
like  Eastern  incantations. 

Early  as  they  were  on  the  river  a  big  American  oil-ship 
was  ahead  of  them  in  tow,  and  when  Jim  saw  her  through 
the  smoking  morning  mist  he  was  thankful.  She  would 
draw  all  of  seventeen  feet  and  if  he  could  steer  by  her  they 
would  be  safe.  It  is  one  thing  to  scurry  up  and  down  the 
"James  and  Mary"  in  a  police-tug  without  responsibility, 
and  quite  another  thing  to  cram  a  hard-mouthed  old  junk 
across  the  same  sands  alone,  with  the  certaintv  of  a  thrashing 
if  you  come  out  alive  at  the  other  end. 


AN  UNQUALIFIED  PILOT  23 

Jim  glued  his  eyes  to  the  American,  and  saw  that  at 
Fultah  she  dropped  her  tug  and  stood  down  the  river  under 
sail.  He  all  but  whooped  aloud,  for  he  knew  that  the  number 
of  pilots  who  preferred  to  work  a  ship  through  the  "James 
and  Mary"  without  tug  was  strictly  limited.  "If  it  isn't 
father,  it's  Dearsley,"  said  Jim;  "but  Dearsley  went  down 
yesterday  with  the  Bandoorah.  If  I'd  gone  home  last  evening 
instead  of  going  to  Pedro,  I'd  have  met  father.  He  must 
have  got  his  ship  quick,  but  —  father  is  a  very  quick  man." 
Then  Jim  reflected  that  they  kept  a  piece  of  knotted  rope 
on  the  pilot  brig  that  stung  like  a  wasp;  but  this  thought 
he  dismissed  as  beneath  the  dignity  of  an  officiating  pilot 
who  need  only  nod  his  head  to  set  Erh-Tze's  bamboo  to  work. 

As  the  American  came  round,  just  before  the  "Fultah 
Sands"  Jim  raked  her  with  his  spy-glass,  and  saw  his  father 
on  the  poop  with  an  unlighted  cigar  between  his  teeth.  That 
cigar,  Jim  knew,  would  be  smoked  on  the  other  side  of  the 
"James  and  Mary"  and  Jim  felt  entirely  safe  and  happy. 
This  kind  of  piloting  was  child's  play!  His  father  could 
not  make  a  mistake  if  he  tried;  and  Jim,  with  his  six  faithful 
pigtails  in  his  two  hands,  had  leisure  to  admire  the  perfect 
style  in  which  the  American  was  handled  —  how  she  would 
point  her  bowsprit  jeeringly  at  a  hidden  bank,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "Not  to-day,  thank  you,  dear,"  and  bow  down 
lovingly  over  a  buoy  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You're  a  gentleman, 
at  any  rate,"  and  come  round  sharp  on  her  heel  with  a  flutter 
and  a  rustle,  and  a  slow,  steady  swing  something  like  a 
woman  staring  round  a  crowded  theatre  through  opera-glasses. 

It  was  hard  work  to  keep  the  junk  near  her,  though  Erh-Tze 
set  everything  that  was  by  any  means  settable,  and  used 
the  bamboo  very  generously.  When  they  were  almost  under 
her  counter,  and  a  little  to  the  left,  Jim  would  feel  warm 
and  happy  all  over,  thinking  of  the  nautical  and  piloting 


24       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

things  he  knew.  When  they  fell  more  than  half  a  mile 
behind,  he  was  cold  and  miserable,  thinking  of  all  the  things 
he  did  not  know  or,  more  still,  was  not  quite  sure  of.  And 
so  they  went  down  the  river,  Jim  steering  by  his  father  turn 
for  turn,  over  the  Mayapur  Bar,  with  the  semaphores  on 
each  bank,  signaling  the  depth  of  water,  through  the  Western 
Gut,  and  round  the  Makoaputti  Lumps,  and  in  and  out  of 
twenty  places,  each  more  exciting  than  the  last,  and  Jim 
nearly  pulled  the  six  pigtails  out  for  pure  joy  when  the 
lafct  of  the  "James  and  Mary"  had  gone  astern,  and  they  were 
walking  through  Diamond  Harbor. 

From  there  to  the  mouth  of  the  Hugli  things  are  not  so 
bad  —  at  least,  that  was  what  Jim  thought  —  and  held  on 
till  the  swell  from  the  Bay  of  Bengal  made  the  old  junk 
heave  and  snort,  and  the  river  broadened  into  the  inland 
sea,  with  islands  only  a  foot  or  two  high  scattered  about  it. 
The  American  walked  away  from  the  junk  as  soon  as  they 
were  beyond  Kedgeree,  and  the  night  came  on  and  the 
water  looked  very  big  and  desolate,  so  Jim  promptly  anchored 
somewhere  in  the  gray  water,  with  the  Saugor  Light  far 
away  off  toward  the  east.  He  had  a  great  respect  for  the 
Hugli,  and  no  desire  whatever  to  find  himself  on  the  Gasper 
Sand  or  any  other  nice  little  shoal  in  the  dark.  Erh-Tze 
and  the  crew  highly  approved  of  this  piece  of  seamanship. 
They  set  no  watch,  lit  no  lights,  and  at  once  went  to  sleep. 

Jim  lay  down  between  a  red  and  black  lacquer  coffin  and 
a  little  live  pig  in  a  basket.  As  soon  as  it  was  light  he  began 
studying  his  chart  of  the  Hugli  mouth,  trying  to  find  out 
where  in  the  river  he  might  be.  He  decided  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  and  wait  for  another  sailing  ship  and  follow  her 
out.  So  he  made  an  enormous  breakfast  of  rice  and  boiled 
fish,  while  Erh-Tze  lit  firecrackers  and  burned  gilt-paper 
before  his  Joss  with  ostentation.  Then  they  heaved  up  their 


AN  UNQUALIFIED  PILOT  25 

rough  and  tumble  anchor  and  made  after  a  big,  fat,  iron 
four-masted  sailing  ship  heavy  as  a  hay  wain.  The  junk, 
which  was  really  a  very  weatherly  boat,  and  might  have 
begun  life  as  a  private  pirate  in  Annam  thirty  years  ago, 
followed  under  easy  sail  —  for  the  four-master  would  run 
no  risks.  She  was  in  old  McE wen's  hands,  and  she  waddled 
about  like  a  broody  hen,  giving  each  shoal  wide  allowances. 
All  this  happened  near  the  outer  Floating  Light,  some  hundred 
and  twenty  miles  from  Calcutta  and  apparently  in  the  open  sea. 

Jim  knew  old  McE  wen's  appetite,  and  had  often  heard 
him  pride  himself  on  getting  his  ship  to  the  pilot  brig  between 
meal  hours,  so  he  argued  that  if  the  pilot  brig  was  get-at-able 
(and  Jim  himself  had  not  the  ghost  of  a  notion  where  she 
might  be)  McEwen  would  find  her  before  one  o'clock. 

It  was  a  blazing  hot  day,  and  McEwen  fidgeted  the  four- 
master  down  to  "Pilots  Ridge"  with  what  little  wind 
remained,  and  sure  enough  there  lay  the  Pilot  Brig  and  Jim 
felt  cold  up  his  back  as  Erh-Tze  paid  him  his  hundred  and 
twenty  rupees  and  he  went  overside  in  the  junk's  crazy 
dinghy.  McEwen  was  leaving  the  four-master  in  a  long, 
slashing  whale-boat,  that  looked  very  spruce  and  pretty 
and  Jim  could  see  that  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  excite- 
ment among  the  pilots  on  the  brig.  He  noticed  that  his 
father  was  there.  The  ragged  Chinese  gave  way  in  a  ragged 
fashion,  and  Jim  felt  very  unwashen  and  disreputable  when 
he  heard  the  click  and  swash  of  McEwen's  oars  alongside, 
and  McEwen  saying,  "James  Trevor,  for  the  sake  of  the 
service,  I'll  trouble  you  to  come  along  with  me." 

Jim  obeyed  —  there  was  no  where  else  to  go.  He  got 
into  the  European  boat  and  from  the  corner  of  one  eye 
watched  McEwen's  angry  whiskers  stand  up  all  round  his 
face  li^e  the  frill  of  a  royal  Bengal  tiger,  while  his  face  turned 
purple  and  his  voice  shook. 


26       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"An'  is  this  how  you  break  the  regulations  o'  the  port  o' 
Calcutta?  Are  ye  aware  o'  the  penalties  ye've  laid  yourself 
open  to?  "  he  roared. 

Jim  said  nothing.  There  was  not  very  much  to  say,  and 
McEwen  roared  aloud:  "Man,  ye've  personated  a  Hugli 
pilot,  an'  that's  as  much  as  to  say  ye've  personated  ME! 
What  did  yon  yellow  heathen  give  you  for  an  honorarium?" 

"Hundred  and  twenty,"  said  Jim. 

"An'  by  what  manner  o'  means  did  ye  get  through  the 
'James  and  Mary'?" 

"Father,"  was  the  answer.  "He  went  down  the  same 
tide  —  and  I  —  we  steered  by  him." 

McEwen  whistled  and  choked;  perhaps  it  was  with  anger. 
"Made  a'stalkin'  horse  o'  your  father.  Jim,  boy,  he'll  make 
an  example  o'  you." 

The  boat  hooked  on  the  Pilot  Brig's  chains,  and  McEwen 
said,  as  he  rolled  on  deck,  "Yon's  an  enterprising  cub  o' 
yours,  Trevor.  Ye'd  better  put  him  to  the  regular  business, 
or  one  o'  these  fine  days  he'll  be  acting  as  pilot  before  he's 
qualified,  and  sinkin'  junks  in  the  fairway.  If  ye've  no  other 
designs  I'd  take  him  in  as  my  cub,  for  there's  no  denying 
he's  a  resourceful  lad  for  all  that  he's  an  unlicked  whelp." 

"That,"  said  Trevor,  reaching  for  Jim's  left  ear,  as  Jim 
set  foot  on  the  deck,  "is  something  we  can  remedy,"  and  he 
led  him  below. 

The  little  knotted  piece  of  rope  that  they  keep  for  general 
purposes  on  the  Pilot  Brig  found  out  every  place  on  him, 
but  when  it  was  all  over  Jim  was  an  unlicked  cub  no  longer. 
He  was  McE wen's  property,  and  a  week  later,  when  the 
Ellora  came  along,  going  up  to  Calcutta  he  bundled 
overside  with  McE  wen's  enameled  leather  hand-bag  and  a 
roll  of  charts,  and  a  little  bag  of  his  own. 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH 

DAN  had  come  to  grief  over  his  Latin,  and  was  kept 
in;  so  Una  went  alone  to  Far  Wood.     Dan's  big 
catapult  and  the  lead  bullets  that  Hobden  had  made 
for  him  were  hidden  in  an  old  hollow  beech-stub  on  the 
west  of  the  wood.     They  had  named  the  place  out  of  the  verse 
in  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome. 

From  lordly  Volaterrae, 

Where  scowls  the  far-famed  hold, 
Piled  by  the  hands  of  giants 

For  Godlike  Kings  of  old. 

They  were  the  "Godlike  Kings,"  and  when  old  Hobden 
piled  some  comfortable  brushwood  between  the  big  wooden 
knees  of  Volaterrae,  they  called  him  "Hands  of  Giants." 

Una  slipped  through  their  private  gap  in  the  fence,  and 
sat  still  a  while,  scowling  as  scowlily  and  lordlily  as  she  knew 
how;  for  "  Volaterrae "  is  an  important  watch-tower  that  juts 
out  of  Far  Wood  just  as  Far  Wood  juts  out  of  the  hillside. 
Pook's  Hill  lay  below  her,  and  all  the  turns  of  the  brook 
as  it  wanders  from  out  of  the  Willingford  Woods,  between 
hop-gardens,  to  old  Hobden's  cottage  at  the  Forge.  The 
Sou'-West  wind  (there  is  always  a  wind  by  "Volaterrae") 
blew  from  the  bare  ridge  where  Cherry  Clack  Windmill  stands. 

Now  wind  prowling  through  woods  sounds  like  exciting 
things  going  to  happen,  and  that  is  why  on  "blowy  days" 

27 


28       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

you  stand  up  in  Volaterrae  and  shout  bits  of  the  Lays  to 
suit  its  noises. 

Una  took  Dan's  catapult  from  its  secret  place,  and  made 
ready  to  meet  Lars  Porsena's  army  stealing  through  the 
wind- whitened  aspens  by  the  brook.  A  gust  boomed  up  the 
valley,  and  Una  chanted  sorrowfully: 

"  Verbenna  down  to  Ostia 

Hath  wasted  all  the  plain; 
Astur  hath  stormed  Janiculum 

And  the  stout  guards  are  slain." 

But  the  wind,  not  charging  fair  to  the  wood,  started  aside 
and  shook  a  single  oak  in  Gleason's  pasture.  Here  it  made 
itself  all  small  and  crouched  among  the  grasses,  waving  the 
tips  of  them  as  a  cat  waves  the  tip  of  her  tail  before  she 
springs. 

"Now  welcome  —  welcome  Sextus,"  sang  Una,  loading  the 
catapult  — 

"Now  welcome  to  thy  home, 

Why  dost  thou  turn  and  run  away? 
Here  lies  the  rod  of  Rome." 

She  fired  into  the  face  of  the  lull,  to  wake  up  the  cowardly 
wind,  and  heard  a  grunt  from  behind  a  thorn  in  the  pasture. 

"Oh,  my  Winkie!"  she  said  aloud,  and  that  was  something 
she  had  picked  up  from  Dan.  "I  believe  I've  tickled  up  a 
Gleason  cow." 

"You  little  painted  beast!"  a  voice  cried.  "I'll  teach  you 
to  sling  your  masters!" 

She  looked  down  most  cautiously,  and  saw  a  young  man 
covered  with  hoopy  bronze  armor  all  glowing  among  the 
late  broom.  But  what  Una  admired  beyond  all  was  his 
great  bronze  helmet  with  its  red  horse-tail  that  flicke.d  in  the 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  29 

wind.  She  could  hear  the  long  hairs  rasp  on  his  shimmery 
shoulder-plates. 

"What  does  the  Faun  mean,"  he  said,  half  aloud  to  himself, 
"  by  telling  me  the  Painted  People  have  changed?  "  He  caught 
sight  of  Una's  yellow  head.  "Have  you  seen  a  painted 
lead-slinger?  "  he  called. 

"No-o,"  said  Una.     "But  if  you've  seen  a  bullet  — 

" Seen? "  cried  the  man.  "It  passed  within  a  hair's  breadth 
of  my  ear." 

"Well,  that  was  me.     I'm  most  awfully  sorry." 

"Didn't  the  Faun  tell  you  I  was  coming?"     He  smiled. 

"Not  if  you  mean  Puck.  I  thought  you  were  a  Gleason 

cow.  I  —  I  didn't  know  you  were  a  —  a WThat  are 

you?" 

He  laughed  outright,  showing  a  set  of  splendid  teeth. 
His  face  and  eyes  were  dark,  and  his  eyebrows  met  above 
his  big  nose  in  one  bushy  black  bar. 

"They  call  me  Parnesius.  I  have  been  an  officer  of  the 
Seventh  Cohort  of  the  Thirtieth  Legion  —  the  Ulpia  Victrix. 
Did  you  sling  that  bullet?" 

"I  did.     I  was  using  Dan's  catapult,"  said  Una. 

"Catapults!"  said  he.  "I  ought  to  know  something  about 
them.  Show  me!" 

He  leaped  the  rough  fence  with  a  rattle  of  spear,  shield, 
and  armor,  and  hoisted  himself  into  " Volaterrae  "  as  quickly 
as  a  shadow. 

"A  sling  on  a  forked  stick.  7  understand!"  he  cried,  and 
pulled  at  the  elastic.  "But  what  wonderful  beast  yields 
this  stretching  leather?" 

"It's  laccy  —  elastic.  You  put  the  bullet  into  that  loop, 
and  then  you  pull  hard." 

The  man  pulled,  and  hit  himself  square  on  his  thumb-nail. 

"Each  to  his  own  weapon,"  he  said,  gravely,  handing  it 


30       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

back.  "I  am  better  with  the  bigger  machine,  little  maiden. 
But  it's  a  pretty  toy.  A  wolf  would  laugh  at  it.  Aren't 
you  afraid  of  wolves?" 

"There  aren't  any,"  said  Una. 

"Never  believe  it!  A  wolf  is  like  a  Winged  Hat.  He 
comes  when  he  isn't  expected.  Don't  they  hunt  wolves 
here?" 

"We  don't  hunt,"  said  Una,  remembering  what  she  had 
heard  from  grown-ups.  "We  preserve  —  pheasants.  Do  you 
know  them?" 

"I  ought  to,"  said  the  young  man,  smiling  again,  and  he 
imitated  the  cry  of  the  cock-pheasant  so  perfectly  that  a 
bird  answered  out  of  the  wood. 

"What  a  big  painted  clucking  fool  is  a  pheasant,"  he  said. 
"Just  like  some  Romans!" 

"But  you're  a  Roman  yourself,  aren't  you?"  said  Una. 

"Ye-es  and  no.  I'm  one  of  a  good  few  thousands  who  have 
never  seen  Rome  except  in  a  picture.  My  people  have 
lived  at  Vectis  for  generations.  Vectis!  That  island  West 
yonder  that  you  can  see  from  so  far  in  clear  weather." 

"Do  you  mean  the  Isle  of  Wight?  It  lifts  up  just  before 
rain,  and  we  see  it  from  the  Downs." 

"Very  likely.  Our  Villa's  on  the  South  edge  of  the  Island, 
by  the  Broken  Cliffs.  Most  of  it  is  three  hundred  years 
old,  but  the  cow-stables,  where  our  first  ancestor  lived,  must 
be  a  hundred  years  older.  Oh,  quite  that,  because  the  founder 
of  our  family  had  his  land  given  him  by  Agricola  at  the 
Settlement.  It's  not  a  bad  little  place  for  its  size.  In 
springtime  violets  grow  down  to  the  very  beach.  I've 
gathered  seaweeds  for  myself  and  violets  for  my  mother 
many  a  time  with  our  old  nurse." 

"Was  your  nurse  a  —  a  Romaness  too?" 

"No,  a  Numidian.     Gods  be  good  to  her!    A  dear,  fat, 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  31 

brown  thing  with  a  tongue  like  a  cowbell.  She  was  a  free 
woman.  By  the  way,  are  you  free,  Maiden?" 

"Oh,  quite,"  said  Una.  "At  least,  till  tea  time;  and  in 
summer  our  governess  doesn't  say  much  if  we're  late." 

The  young  man  laughed  again  —  a  proper  undei  standing 
laugh. 

"I  see,"  said  he.  "That  accounts  for  your  being  in  the 
wood.  We  hid  among  the  cliffs." 

"Did  you  have  a  governess,  then?" 

"Did  we  not?  A  Greek,  too.  She  had  a  way  of  clutching 
her  dress  when  she  hunted  us  among  the  gorze-bushes  that 
made  us  laugh.  Then  she'd  say  she'd  get  us  whipped.  She 
never  did,  though,  bless  her!  Aglaia  was  a  thorough  sports- 
woman, for  all  her  learning." 

"But  what  lessons  did  you  do  —  when  —  when  you  were 
little!" 

"Ancient  history,  the  Classics,  arithmetic,  and  so  on," 
he  answered.  "My  sister  and  I  were  thickheads,  but  my 
two  brothers  (I'm  the  middle  one)  liked  those  things,  and,  of 
course,  Mother  was  clever  enough  for  any  six.  She  was 
nearly  as  tall  as  I  am,  and  she  looked  like  the  new  statue 
on  the  Western  Road  —  the  Demeter  of  the  Baskets,  you 
know.  And  funny!  Roma  Dea!  How  Mother  could  make 
us  laugh!" 

"What  at?" 

"Little  jokes  and  sayings  that  every  family  has.  Don't 
you  know?  " 

"I  know  we  have,  but  I  didn't  know  other  people  had  them 
too,"  said  Una.  "Tell  me  about  all  your  family,  please." 

"Good  families  are  very  much  alike.  Mother  would  sit 
spinning  of  evenings  while  Aglaia  read  in  her  corner,  and 
Father  did  accounts,  and  we  four  romped  about  the  passages. 
When  our  noise  grew  too  loud  the  Pater  would  say,  'Less 


32       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES     . 

tumult!  Less  tumult!  Have  you  never  heard  of  a  Father's 
right  over  his  children?  He  can  slay  them,  my  loves  —  slay 
them  dead,  and  the  Gods  highly  approve  of  the  action!' 
Then  Mother  would  prim  up  her  dear  mouth  over  the  wheel 
and  answer:  'H'm!  I'm  afraid  there  can't  be  much  of  the 
Roman  Father  about  you!'  Then  the  Pater  would  roll 
up  his  accounts,  and  say,  'I'll  show  you!'  and  then  —  then, 
he'd  be  worse  than  any  of  us!" 

"Fathers  can  —  if  they  like,''  said  Una,  her  eyes  dancing. 

"Didn't  I  say  all  good  families  are  very  much  the  same?" 

"What  did  you  do  in  summer?"  said  Una.  "Play  about, 
like  us?" 

"Yes,  and  we  visited  our  friends.  There  are  no  wolves  in 
Vectis.  We  had  many  friends,  and  as  many  ponies  as  we 
wished." 

"It  must  have  been  lovely,  said  Una.  "I  hope  it  lasted 
forever." 

"Not  quite,  little  maid.  When  I  was  about  sixteen  or 
seventeen,  the  Father  felt  gouty,  and  we  all  went  to  the 
Waters." 

"What  waters?" 

"At  Aquae  Sulis.  Every  one  goes  there.  You  ought  to 
get  your  Father  to  take  you  some  day." 

"But  where?     I  don't  know,"  said  Una. 

The  young  man  looked  astonished  for  a  moment.  "Aquae 
Sulis,"  he  repeated.  "The  best  baths  in  Britain.  Just  as 
good,  I'm  told,  as  Rome.  All  the  old  gluttons  sit  in  its  hot 
water,  and  talk  scandal  and  politics.  And  the  Generals 
come  through  the  streets  with  their  guards  behind  them; 
and  the  magistrates  come  in  their  chairs  with  their  stiff 
guards  behind  them;  and  you  meet  fortune-tellers,  and  gold- 
smiths, and  merchants,  and  philosophers,  and  feather-sellers, 
and  ultra-Roman  Britons,  and  ultra-British  Romans,  and 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  33 

tame  tribesmen  pretending  to  be  civilized,  and  Jew  lecturers, 
and  —  oh,  everybody  interesting.  We  young  people,  of 
course,  took  no  interest  in  politics.  We  had  not  the  gout: 
there  were  many  of  our  age  like  us.  We  did  not  find  life  sad. 

"But  while  we  were  enjoying  ourselves  without  thinking, 
my  sister  met  the  son  of  a  magistrate  in  the  West  —  and  a 
year  afterward  she  was  married  to  him.  My  young  brother, 
who  was  always  interested  in  plants  and  roots,  met  the  First 
Doctor  of  a  Legion  from  the  City  of  the  Legions,  and  he 
decided  that  he  would  be  an  Army  doctor.  I  do  not  think 
it  is  a  profession  for  a  well-born  man,  but  then  —  I'm  not 
my  brother.  He  went  to  Rome  to  study  medicine,  and  now 
he's  First  Doctor  of  a  Legion  in  Egypt  —  at  Antinoe,  I  think, 
but  I  have  not  heard  from  him  for  some  time. 

"My  eldest  brother  came  across  a  Greek  philosopher,  and 
told  my  Father  that  he  intended  to  settle  down  on  the  estate 
as  a  farmer  and  a  philosopher.  You  see.  You  see"  — 
the  young  man's  eyes  twinkled  —  "his  philosopher  was  a 
long-haired  one!" 

"I  thought  philosophers  were  bald,"  said  Una. 

"Not  all.  She  was  very  pretty.  I  don't  blame  him. 
Nothing  could  have  suited  me  better  than  my  eldest  brother's 
doing  this,  for  I  was  only  too  keen  to  join  the  Army.  I  had 
always  feared  I  should  have  to  stay  at  home  and  look  after 
the  estate  while  my  brother  took  this." 

He  rapped  on  his  great  glistening  shield  that  never  seemed 
to  be  in  his  way. 

"So  we  were  well  contented  —  we  young  people  —  and  we 
rode  back  to  Clausentum  along  the  Wood  Road  very  quietly. 
But  when  we  reached  home,  Aglaia,  our  governess,  saw 
what  had  come  to  us.  I  remember  her  at  the  door,  the 
torch  over  her  head,  watching  us  climb  the  cliff-path  from  the 
boat.  'Aie!  Aie!'  she  said.  'Children  you  went  away. 


34       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Men  and  a  woman  you  return!'  Then  she  kissed  Mother, 
and  Mother  wept.  Thus  our  visit  to  the  Waters  settled  our 
fates  for  each  of  us,  Maiden. " 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  listened,  leaning  on  the  shield-rim. 

"I  think  that's  Dan  —  my  brother,"  said  Una. 

"Yes;  and  the  Faun  is  with  him,"  he  replied,  as  Dan  with 
Puck  stumbled  through  the  copse. 

"We  should  have  come  sooner,"  Puck  called,  "but  the 
beauties  of  your  native  tongue,  O  Parnesius,  have  enthralled 
this  young  citizen." 

Parnesius  looked  bewildered,  even  when  Una  explained. 

"Dan  said  the  plural  of  'dominus'  was  'dominoes,'  and 
when  Miss  Blake  said  it  wasn't  he  said  he  supposed  it  was 
'backgammon,'  and  so  he  had  to  write  it  out  twice  —  for 
cheek,  you  know." 

Dan  had  climbed  into  Volaterrae,  hot  and  panting. 

"I've  run  nearly  all  the  way,"  he  gasped,  "and  then  Puck 
met  me.  How  do  you  do,  Sir?" 

"I  am  in  good  health,"  Parnesius  answered.  "See!  I 
have  tried  to  bend  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  but  —  He  held 

up  his  thumb. 

"I'm  sorry.  You  must  have  pulled  off  too  soon,"  said 
Dan.  "Puck  said  you  viere  telling  Una  a  story." 

"Continue,  O  Parnesius,"  said  Puck,  who  had  perched 
Himself  on  a  dead  branch  above  them.  "I  will  be  chorus. 
Has  he  puzzled  you  much,  Una?" 

"Not  a  bit,  except  —  I  didn't  know  where  Ak —  Ak 
something  was,"  she  answered. 

"  Oh,  Aquae  Sulis.  That's  Bath,  where  the  buns  come  from. 
Let  the  hero  tell  his  own  tale." 

Parnesius  pretended  to  thrust  his  spear  at  Puck's  legs, 
but  Puck  reached  down,  caught  at  the  horse-tail  plume, 
and  pulled  off  the  tall  helmet. 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  35 

"  Thanks,  jester,"  said  Parnesius,  shaking  his  curly  dark 
head.  "That  is  cooler.  Now  hang  it  up  for  me. 

"I  was  telling  your  sister  how  I  joined  the  Army,"  he  said 
to  Dan. 

"Did  you  have  to  pass  an  Exam?"  Dan  asked  eagerly. 

"No,  I  went  to  my  Father,  and  said  I  should  like  to  enter 
the  Dacian  Horse  (I  had  seen  some  at  Aquae  Sulis);  but  he 
said  I  had  better  begin  service  in  a  regular  Legion  from  Rome. 
Now,  like  many  of  our  youngsters,  I  was  not  too  fond  of  any- 
thing Roman.  The  Roman-born  officers  and  magistrates 
looked  down  on  us  British-born  as  though  we  were  barbarians. 
I  told  my  Father  so. 

"'I  know  they  do,'  he  said;  'but  remember,  after  all,  we 
are  the  people  of  the  Old  Stock,  and  our  duty  is  to  the 
Empire. ' 

"'To  which  Empire?'  I  asked.  'We  split  the  Eagle  before 
I  was  born.' 

"'What  thieves'  talk  is  that?'  said  my  Father.  He  hated 
slang. 

"'Well,  Sir,'  I  said,  'we've  one  Emperor  in  Rome,  and  I 
don't  know  how  many  Emperors  the  outlying  Provinces  have 
set  up  from  time  to  time.  Which  am  I  to  follow?' 

"'Gratian,'  said  he.     'At  least  he's  a  sportsman.' 

"'He's  all  that,'  I  said.  'Hasn't  he  turned  himself  into 
a  raw-beef-eating  Scythian?' 

"'Where  did  you  hear  of  it?'  said  the  Pater. 

"'At  Aquae  Sulis,'  I  said.  It  was  perfectly  true.  This 
precious  Emperor  Gratian  of  ours  had  a  bodyguard  of  fur- 
cloaked  Scythians,  and  he  was  so  crazy  about  them  that  he 
dressed  like  them.  In  Rome  of  all  places  in  the  world!  It 
was  as  bad  as  if  my  own  Father  had  painted  himself  blue ! 

'"No  matter  for  the  clothes,'  said  the  Pater.  'They  are 
only  the  fringe  of  the  trouble.  It  began  before  your  time  or 


36       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

mine.  Rome  has  forsaken  her  Gods,  and  must  be  punished. 
The  great  war  with  the  Painted  People  broke  out  in  the  very 
year  the  temples  of  our  Gods  were  destroyed.  We  beat  the 
Painted  People  in  the  very  year  our  temples  were  rebuilt. 
Go  back  further  still.'  ...  He  went  back  to  the  time  of 
Diocletian;  and  to  listen  to  him  you  would  have  thought 
Eternal  Rome  herself  was  on  the  edge  of  destruction,  just 
because  a  few  people  had  become  a  little  large-minded. 

"I  knew  nothing  about  it.  Aglaia  never  taught  us  the 
history  of  our  own  country.  She  was  so  full  of  her  ancient 
Greeks. 

"  'There  is  no  hope  for  Rome,'  said  the  Pater,  at  last.  '  She 
has  forsaken  her  Gods,  but  if  the  Gods  forgive  us  here,  we 
may  save  Britain.  To  do  that,  we  must  keep  the  Painted 
People  back.  Therefore,  I  tell  you,  Parnesius,  as  a  Father, 
that  if  your  heart  is  set  on  service,  your  place  is  among  men 
on  the  Wall  —  and  not  with  women  among  the  cities."5 

"What  Wall?"  asked  Dan  and  Una  at  once. 

"Father  meant  the  one  we  call  Hadrian's  WTall.  I'll  tell 
you  about  it  later.  It  was  built  long  ago,  across  North 
Britain,  to  keep  out  the  Painted  People  —  Picts  you  call 
them.  Father  had  fought  in  the  great  Pict  War  that  lasted 
more  than  twenty  years,  and  he  knew  what  fighting  meant. 
Theodosius,  one  of  our  great  Generals,  had  chased  the  little 
beasts  back  far  into  the  North  before  I  was  born:  down  at 
Vectis,  of  course,  we  never  troubled  our  heads  about  them. 
But  when  my  Father  spoke  as  he  did,  I  kissed  his  hand,  and 
waited  for  orders.  We  British-born  Romans  know  what  is 
due  to  our  parents." 

"If  I  kissed  my  Father's  hand,  he'd  laugh,"  said  Dan. 

"Customs  change;  but  if  you  do  not  obey  your  father, 
the  Gods  remember  it.  You  may  be  quite  sure  of  that. 

"After  our  talk,  seeing  I  was  in  earnest,  the  Pater  sent 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  37 

me  over  to  Clausentum  to  learn  my  foot-drill  in  a  barrack 
full  of  foreign  Auxiliaries  —  as  unwashed  and  unshaved  a  mob 
of  mixed  barbarians  as  ever  scrubbed  a  breastplate.  It  was 
your  stick  in  their  stomachs  and  your  shield  in  their  faces  to 
push  them  into  any  sort  of  formation.  When  I  had  learned 
my  work  the  Instructor  gave  me  a  handful  —  and  they  were 
a  handful!  —  of  Gauls  and  Iberians  to  polish  up  till  they 
were  sent  to  their  station^  up-country.  I  did  my  best,  and 
one  night  a  villa  in  the  suburbs  caught  fire,  and  I  had  my 
handful  out  and  at  work  before  any  of  the  other  troops. 
I  noticed  a  quiet-looking  man  on  the  lawn,  leaning  on  a  stick. 
He  watched  us  passing  buckets  from  the  pond,  and  at  last  he 
said  to  me:  'Who  are  you?' 

"'A  probationer,  waiting  for  a  cohort,'  I  answered.  7 
didn't  know  who  he  was  from  Deucalion! 

"'Born  in  Britain?'  he  asked. 

"'Yes,  if  you  were  born  in  Spain,'  I  said,  for  he  neighed 
his  words  like  an  Iberian  mule. 

"'And  what  might  you  call  yourself  when  you  are  at 
home?'  he  said  laughing. 

"'That  depends,'  I  answered;  'sometimes  one  thing  and 
sometimes  another.  But  now  I'm  busy.' 

"He  said  no  more  till  we  had  saved  the  family  Gods  (they 
were  respectable  householders),  and  then  he  grunted  across 
the  laurels:  'Listen,  young  sometimes-one- thing-and-some- 
times-another.  In  future  call  yourself  Centurion  of  the 
Seventh  Cohort  of  the  Thirtieth,  the  Ulpia  Victrix.  That 
will  help  me  to  remember  you.  Your  Father  and  a  few  other 
people  call  me  Maximus.' 

"He  tossed  me  the  polished  stick  he  was  leaning  on,  and 
went  away.  You  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  it!" 

"Who  was  he?"  said  Dan. 

"Maximus  himself,  our  great  General!     The  General  of 


38        KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Britain  who  had  been  Theodosius's  right  hand  in  the  Pict 
War!  Not  only  had  he  given  me  my  Centurion's  stick 
direct,  but  three  steps  in  a  good  Legion  as  well!  A  new  man 
generally  begins  in  the  Tenth  Cohort  of  his  Legion,  and 
works  up. " 

"And  were  you  pleased?"  said  Una. 

"Very.  I  thought  Maximus  had  chosen  me  for  my  good 
looks  and  fine  style  in  marching,  ,but,  when  I  went  home, 
the  Pater  told  me  he  had  served  under  Maximus  in  the 
great  Pict  War,  and  had  asked  him  to  promote  me." 

"A  child  you  were!"  said  Puck,  from  above. 

"I  was,"  said  Parnesius.  "Don't  begrudge  it  me,  Faun. 
Afterward  —  the  Gods  know  I  put  aside  the  games!"  And 
Puck  nodded,  brown  chin  on  brown  hand,  his  big  eyes  still. 

"The  night  before  I  left  we  sacrificed  to  our  ancestors  — 
the  usual  little  Home  Sacrifice  —  but  I  never  prayed  so 
earnestly  to  all  the  Good  Shades,  and  then  I  went  with  my 
Father  by  boat  to  Regnum,  and  across  the  chalk  eastward 
to  Anderida  yonder." 

"Regnum?  Anderida?"  The  children  turned  their  faces 
to  Puck. 

"Regnum's  Chichester,"  he  said,  pointing  toward  Cherry 
Clack,  and  —  he  threw  his  arm  South  behind  him  —  "  Ander- 
ida's  Pevensey." 

"Pevensey  again!"  said  Dan.    ''Where  Weland  landed?" 

"Weland  and  a  few  others,"  said  Puck.  "Pevensey  isn't 
young  —  even  compared  to  me!" 

"The  headquarters  of  the  Thirtieth  lay  at  Anderida  in 
summer,  but  my  own  Cohort,  the  Seventh,  was  on  the  Wall 
up  North.  Maximus  was  inspecting  Auxiliaries  —  the  Abulci, 
I  think  —  at  Anderida,  and  we  stayed  with  him,  for  he  and 
my  Father  were  very  old  friends.  I  was  only  there  ten  days 
when  I  was  ordered  to  go  up  with  thirty  men  to  my  Cohort." 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  39 

He  laughed  merrily.  "A  man  never  forgets  his  first  march. 
I  was  happier  than  any  Emperor  when  I  led  my  handful 
through  the  North  Gate  of  the  Camp,  and  we  saluted  the 
Guard  and  the  Altar  of  Victory  there." 

"How?    How?"  said  Dan  and  Una. 

Parnesius  smiled,  and  stood  up,  flashing  in  his  armor. 

"So!"  said  he;  and  he  moved  slowly  through  the  beautiful 
movements  of  the  Roman  Salute,  that  ends  with  a  hollow 
clang  of  the  shield  coming  into  its  place  between  the  shoulders. 

" Hai ! "  said  Puck.     " That  sets  one  thinking ! " 

"We  went  out  fully  armed,"  said  Parnesius,  sitting  down; 
"but  as  soon  as  the  road  entered  the  Great  Forest,  my  men 
expected  the  packhorses  to  hang  their  shields  on.  'No!'  I 
said;  'you  can  dress  like  women  in  Anderida,  but  while  you're 
with  me  you  will  carry  your  own  weapons  and  armor.' 

"'But  it's  hot,'  said  one  of  them,  'and  we  haven't  a  doctor. 
Suppose  we  get  sunstroke,  or  a  fever?' 

'"Then  die,'  I  said,  'and  a  good  riddance  to  Rome!  Up 
shield  —  up  spears,  and  tighten  your  foot-wear!" 

"'Don't  think  yourself  Emperor  of  Britain  already,'  a 
fellow  shouted.  I  knocked  him  over  with  the  butt  of  my 
spear,  and  explained  to  these  Roman-born  Romans  that, 
if  there  were  any  further  trouble,  we  should  go  on  with  one 
man  short.  And,  by  the  Light  of  the  Sun,  I  meant  it  too! 
My  raw  Gauls  at  Clausentum  had  never  treated  me  so. 

"Then,  quietly  as  a  cloud,  Maximus  rode  out  of  the  fern 
(my  Father  behind  him),  and  reined  up  across  the  road. 
He  wore  the  Purple,  as  though  he  were  already  Emperor; 
his  leggings  were  of  white  buckskin  laced  with  gold. 

"My  men  dropped  like  —  like  partridges. 

"He  said  nothing  for  some  time,  only  looked  with  his  eyes 
puckered.  Then  he  crooked  his  forefinger,  and  my  men 
walked  —  crawled,  I  mean  —  to  one  side. 


40       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

'"Stand  in  the  sun,  children/  he  said,  and  they  formed 
up  on  the  hard  road. 

"'What  would  you  have  done,'  he  said  to  me,  'if  I  had 
not  been  here? ' 

"'I  should  have  killed  that  man,'  I  answered. 

'"Kill  him  now,'  he  said.     'He  will  not  move  a  limb.' 

" '  No,'  I  said.  '  You've  taken  my  men  out  of  my  command. 
I  should  only  be  your  butcher  if  I  killed  him  now.'  Do  you 
see  what  I  meant?"  Parnesius  turned  to  Dan. 

"Yes,"  said  Dan.     "It  wouldn't  have  been  fair,  somehow." 

"That  was  what  I  thought,"  said  Parnesius.  But  Maxi- 
mus  frowned.  'You'll  never  be  an  Emperor, 'he said.  'Not 
even  a  General  will  you  be.' 

"I  was  silent,  but  my  Father  seemed  pleased. 

"'I  came  here  to  see  the  last  of  you,'  he  said. 

"'You  have  seen  it,'  said  Maximus.  'I  shall  never  need 
your  son  any  more.  He  will  live  and  he  will  die  an  officer 
of  a  Legion  —  and  he  might  have  been  Prefect  of  one  of  my 
Provinces.  Now  eat  and  drink  with  us,'  he  said.  'Your 
men  will  wait  till  you  have  finished.' 

"My  miserable  thirty  stood  like  wine-skins  glistening  in 
the  hot  sun,  and  Maximus  led  us  to  where  his  people  had 
set  a  meal.  Himself  he  mixed  the  wine. 

"'A  year  from  now,'  he  said,  'you  will  remember  that 
you  have  sat  with  the  Emperor  of  Britain  —  and  Gaul.' 

"'Yes,'  said  the  Pater,  'you  can  drive  two  mules  —  Gaul 
and  Britain.' 

"'Five  years  hence  you  will  remember  that  you  have 
drunk'  —  he  passed  me  the  cup  and  there  was  blue  borage 
in  it  —  '  with  the  Emperor  of  Rome ! ' 

"'No;  you  can't  drive  three  mules;  they  will  tear  you  in 
pieces,'  said  my  Father. 

"'And  you  on  the  Wall,  among  the  heather,  will  weep 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  41 

because  your  notion  of  justice  was  more  to  you  than  the 
favor  of  the  Emperor  of  Rome.' 

"I  sat  quite  still.  One  does  not  answer  a  General  who 
wears  the  Purple. 

'"I  am  not  angry  with  you,'  he  went  on;  'I  owe  too  much 
to  your  Father  — 

"'You  owe  me  nothing  but  advice  that  you  never  took/ 
said  the  Pater. 

—  to  be  unjust  to  any  of  your  family.  Indeed,  I 
say  you  will  make  a  good  officer,  but,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
on  the  Wall  you  will  live,  and  on  the  Wall  you  will  die,' 
said  Maximus. 

"'Very  like,'  said  iny  Father.  'But  we  shall  have  the 
Picts  and  their  friends  breaking  through  before  long.  You 
cannot  move  all  troops  out  of  Britain  to  make  you  Emperor, 
and  expect  the  North  to  sit  quiet.' 

"'I  follow  my  destiny,'  said  Maximus. 

"'Follow  it,  then,'  said  my  Father  pulling  up  a  fern  root; 
'and  die  as  Theodosius  died.' 

" '  Ah ! '  said  Maximus.  '  My  old  General  was  killed  because 
he  served  the  Empire  too  well.  7  may  be  killed,  but  not 
for  that  reason,'  and  he  smiled  a  little  pale  gray  smile  that 
made  my  blood  run  cold. 

"'Then  I  had  better  follow  my  destiny,'  I  said,  'and  take 
my  men  to  the  Wall.' 

"He  looked  at  me  a  long  time,  and  bowed  his  head  slanting 
like  a  Spaniard.  'Follow  it,  boy,'  he  said.  That  was  all. 
I  was  only  too  glad  to  get  away,  though  I  had  many  messages 
for  home.  I  found  my  men  standing  as  they  had  been  put  — 
they  had  not  even  shifted  their  feet  in  the  dust  —  and  off  I 
marched,  still  feeling  that  terrific  smile  like  an  east  wind  up 
my  back.  I  never  halted  them  till  sunset,  and"  —  he  turned 
about  and  looked  at  Pook's  Hill  below  him  —  "then  I 


42       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

halted  yonder."  He  pointed  to  the  broken,  bracken- 
covered  shoulder  of  the  Forge  Hill  behind  old  Hobden's 
cottage. 

"There?  Why,  that's  only  the  old  Forge  —  where  they 
made  iron  once,"  said  Dan. 

"Very  good  stuff  it  was  too,"  said  Parnesius,  calmly. 
"We  mended  three  shoulder-straps  here  and  had  a  spear-head 
riveted.  The  forge  was  rented  from  the  Government  by 
a  one-eyed  smith  from  Carthage.  I  remember  we  called  him 
Cyclops.  He  sold  me  a  beaver-skin  rug  for  my  sister's 
room." 

"But  it  couldn't  have  been  here,"  Dan  insisted. 

"But  it  was!  From  the  Altar  of  Victory  at  Anderida  to  the 
First  Forge  in  the  Forest  here  is  twelve  miles  seven  hundred 
paces.  It  is  all  in  the  Road  Book.  A  man  doesn't  forget 
his  first  march.  I  think  I  could  tell  you  every  station 

between  this  and "  He  leaned  forward,  but  his  eye 

was  caught  by  the  setting  sun. 

It  had  come  down  to  the  top  of  Cherry  Clack  Hill,  and  the 
light  poured  in  between  the  tree  trunks  so  that  you  could 
see  red  and  gold  and  black  deep  into  the  heart  of  Far  Wood; 
and  Parnesius  in  his  armor  shone  as  though  he  had  been 
afire. 

"Wait,"  he  said,  lifting  a  hand,  and  the  sunlight  jinked 
on  his  glass  bracelet.  "Wait!  I  pray  to  Mithras !" 

He  rose  and  stretched  his  arms  westward,  with  deep, 
splendid-sounding  words. 

Then  Puck  began  to  sing  too,  in  a  voice  like  bells  tolling, 
and  as  he  sang  he  slipped  from  "Volaterrae"  to  the  ground, 
and  beckoned  the  children  to  follow.  They  obeyed ;  it  seemed 
as  though  the  voices  were  pushing  them  along;  and  through 
the  goldy-brown  light  on  the  beech  leaves  they  walked,  while 
Puck  between  them  chanted  something  like  this :  — 


A  CENTURION  OF  THE  THIRTIETH  43 

Cur  mundus  militat  sub  vana  gloria 
Cujus  prosperitas  est  transitoria? 
Tam  cito  labitur  ejus  potentia 
Quam  vasa  figuli  quae  sunt  fragilia.1 

They  found  themselves  at  the  little  locked  gates  of  the 

wood. 

Quo  Caesar  abiit  celsus  imperio? 

Vel  Dives  splendidus  totus  in  prandio? 

Die  ubi  Tullius 

Still  singing,  he  took  Dan's  hand  and  wheeled  him  round 
to  face  Una  as  she  came  out  of  the  gate.  It  shut  behind 
her,  at  the  same  time  as  Puck  threw  the  memory-magicking 
Oak,  Ash,  and  Thorn  leaves  over  their  heads. 

"Well,  you  are  jolly  late,"  said  Una.  "Couldn't  you  get 
away  before?" 

"I  did,"  said  Dan.     "I  got  away  in  lots  of  time,  but  — 
but  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  late.     Where've  you  been?" 

"In  Volaterrae  —  waiting  for  you." 

"Sorry,"  said  Dan.     "It  was  all  that  beastly  Latin." 


1 "  Why  with  vain  pomp  parades  the  world, 
Whose  glory  lives  for  but  a  single  day? 
As  quickly  is  its  power  down  hurled, 
As  fragile  products  of  the  potter's  clay." 

a "  With  what  command  did  noble  Caesar  quit  this  life? 
Or  Dives,  lavish,  spendthrift  in  his  simplest  meal? 
Say  where  our  Tullius  (Cicero) " 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL 

When  I  left  Rome  for  Lalage's  sake 

By  the  Legions'  Road  to  Rimini, 
She  vowed  her  heart  was  mine  to  take 

With  me  and  my  shield  to  Rimini — 

(Till  the  Eagles  flew  from  Rimini!) 
And  I've  tramped  Britain  and  I've  tramped  Gaul 
And  the  Pontic  shore  where  the  snow-flakes  fall 

As  white  as  the  neck  of  Lalage — 

As  cold  as  the  heart  of  Lalage! 
And  I've  lost  Britain  and  I've  lost  Gaul 

(the  voice  seemed  very  cheerful  about  it), 

And  I've  lost  Rome,  and  worst  of  all, 
I've  lost  Lalage! 

THEY  were  standing  by  the  gate  to  Far  Wood  when 
they  heard  this  song.     Without  a  word  they  hurried 
to  their  private  gap  and  wriggled  through  the  hedge 
almost  atop  of  a  jay  that  was  feeding  from  Puck's  hand. 
" Gently ! "  said  Puck.     "What  are  you  looking  for? " 
"Parnesius,  of  course,"  Dan  answered.     "We've  only  just 
remembered  yesterday.     It  isn't  fair." 

Puck  chuckled  as  he  rose.  "I'm  sorry,  but  children  who 
spend  the  afternoon  with  me  and  a  Roman  Centurion  need 
a  little  settling  dose  of  Magic  before  they  go  to  tea  with 
their  governess.  Ohe,  Parnesius!"  he  called. 

44 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  45 

"Here,  Faun!"  came  the  answer  from  "  Volaterrae."  They 
could  see  the  shimmer  of  bronze  armor  in  the  beech  crotch, 
and  the  friendly  flash  of  the  great  shield  uplifted. 

"I  have  driven  out  the  Britons."  Parnesius  laughed  like 
a  boy.  "I  occupy  their  high  forts.  But  Rome  is  merciful! 
You  may  come  up."  And  up  they  three  all  scrambled. 

"What  was  the  song  you  were  singing  just  now?"  said 
Una,  as  soon  as  she  had  settled  herself. 

"That?  Oh,  Rimini.  It's  one  of  the  tunes  that  are  always 
being  born  somewhere  in  the  Empire.  They  run  like  a  pesti- 
lence for  six  months  or  a  year,  till  another  one  pleases  the 
Legions,  and  then  they  march  to  that." 

"Tell  them  about  the  marching,  Parnesius.  Few  people 
nowadays  walk  from  end  to  end  of  this  country,"  said 
Puck. 

"The  greater  their  loss.  I  know  nothing  better  than  the 
Long  March  when  your  feet  are  hardened.  You  begin  after 
the  mists  have  risen,  and  you  end,  perhaps,  an  hour  after 
sundown." 

"And  what  do  you  have  to  eat?"  Dan  asked,  promptly. 

"Fat  bacon,  beans,  and  bread,  and  whatever  wine  happens 
to  be  in  the  rest-houses.  But  soldiers  are  born  grumblers. 
Their  very  first  day  out,  my  men  complained  of  our  water- 
ground  British  corn.  They  said  it  wasn't  so  filling  as  the 
rough  stuff  that  is  ground  in  the  Roman  ox-mills.  However, 
they  had  to  fetch  and  eat  it." 

"Fetch  it?    Where  from? "  said  Una. 

"From  that  newly  invented  water-mill  below  the  Forge." 

"That's  Forge  Mill  —  our  Mill ! "    Una  looked  at  Puck. 

"Yes;  yours,"  Puck  put  in.  "How  old  did  you  think  it 
was?" 

"I  don't  know.  Didn't  Sir  Richard  Dalyngridge  talk 
about  it?" 


46       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"He  did,  and  it  was  old  in  his  day,"  Puck  answered. 
"Hundreds  of  years  old." 

"It  was  new  in  my  day,"  said  Parnesius.  "My  men 
looked  at  the  flour  in  their  helmets  as  though  it  had  been 
a  nest  of  adders.  They  did  it  to  try  my  patience.  But  I 
—  addressed  them,  and  we  became  friends.  To  tell  the 
truth,  they  taught  me  the  Roman  Step.  You  see,  I'd  only 
served  with  quick-marching  Auxiliaries.  A  Legion's  pace  is 
altogether  different.  It  is  a  long,  slow  stride,  that  never 
varies  from  sunrise  to  sunset.  "Rome's  Race  —  Rome's 
Pace,"  as  the  proverb  says.  Twenty-four  miles  in  eight 
hours,  neither  more  nor  less.  Head  and  spear  up,  shield  on 
your  back,  cuirass-collar  open  one  hand's  breadth  —  and 
that's  how  you  take  the  Eagles  through  Britain." 

"And  did  you  meet  any  adventures?"  said  Dan. 

"There  are  no  adventures  South  the  Wall,"  said  Parnesius. 
"The  worst  thing  that  happened  me  was  having  to  appear 
before  a  magistrate  up  North,  where  a  wandering  philosopher 
had  jeered  at  the  Eagles.  I  was  able  to  show  that  the  old 
man  deliberately  blocked  our  road,  and  the  magistrate  told 
him,  out  of  his  own  Book,  I  believe,  that,  whatever  his  God 
might  be,  he  should  pay  proper  respect  to  Caesar." 

"What  did  you  do?"  said  Dan. 

"Went  on.  Why  should  /  care  for  such  things,  my  business 
being  to  reach  my  station?  It  took  me  twenty  days. 

"Of  course,  the  farther  North  you  go  the  emptier  are  the 
roads.  At  last  you  fetch  clear  of  the  forests  and  climb  bare 
hills,  where  wolves  howl  in  the  ruins  of  our  cities  that  have 
been.  No  more  pretty  girls;  no  more  jolly  magistrates  who 
knew  your  Father  when  he  was  young,  and  invite  you  to  stay 
with  them;  no  news  at  the  temples  and  way-stations  except 
bad  news  of  wild  beasts.  There's  where  you  meet  hunters, 
and  trappers  for  the  Circuses,  prodding  along  chained  bears 


"  There's  where  you  meet  hunters,  and  trappers  for  the  Circuses, 
prodding  along  chained  bears  and  muzzled  wolves." 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  47 

and  muzzled  wolves.    Your  pony  shies  at  them,  and  your 
men  laugh. 

"The  houses  change  from  gardened  villas  to  shut  forts 
with  watch-towers  of  gray  stone,  and  great  stone-walled 
sheepfolds,  guarded,  by  armed  Britons  of  the  North  Shore. 
In  the  naked  hills  beyond  the  naked  houses,  where  the  shadows 
of  the  clouds  play  like  cavalry  charging,  you  see  puffs  of  black 
smoke  from  the  mines.  The  hard  road  goes  on  and  on  — 
and  the  wind  sings  through  your  helmet-plume  —  past  altars 
to  Legions  and  Generals  forgotten,  and  broken  statues  of 
Gods  and  Heroes,  and  thousands  of  graves  where  the  moun- 
tain foxes  and  hares  peep  at  you.  Red-hot  in  summer,  freez- 
ing in  winter,  is  that  big,  purple  heather  country  of  broken 
stone. 

"Just  when  you  think  you  are  at  the  world's  end,  you  see 
a  smoke  from  East  to  West  as  far  as  the  eye  can  turn,  and 
then,  under  it,  also  as  far  as  the  eye  can  stretch,  houses  and 
temples,  shops  and  theaters,  barracks,  and  granaries,  trickling 
along  like  dice  behind  —  always  behind  —  one  long,  low, 
rising  and  falling,  and  hiding  and  showing  line  of  towers. 
And  that  is  the  Wall!" 

"Ah!"  said  the  children  taking  breath. 

"You  may  well,"  said  Parnesius.  "Old  men  who  have 
followed  the  Eagles  since  boyhood  say  nothing  in  the  Empire 
is  more  wonderful  than  first  sight  of  the  Wall!" 

"  Is  it  just  a  Wall?  Like  the  one  round  the  kitchen  garden?  " 
said  Dan. 

"No,  no!  It  is  Hie  Wall.  Along  the  top  are  towers  with 
guard-houses,  small  towers,  between.  Even  on  the  narrowest 
part  of  it  three  men  with  shields  can  walk  abreast  from 
guard-house  to  guard-house.  A  little  curtain  wall,  no  higher 
than  a  man's  neck,  runs  along  the  top  of  the  thick  wall,  so 
that  from  a  distance  you  see  the  helmets  of  the  sentries 


48       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

sliding  back  and  forth  like  beads.  Thirty  feet  high  is  the 
Wall,  and  on  the  Picts'  side,  the  North,  is  a  ditch,  strewn 
with  blades  of  old  swords  and  spear-heads  set  in  wood,  and 
tires  of  wheels  joined  by  chains.  The  Little  People  come 
there  to  steal  iron  for  their  arrow-heads. 

"But  the  Wall  itself  is  not  more  wonderful  than  the  town 
behind  it.  Long  ago  there  were  great  ramparts  and  ditches 
on  the  South  side,  and  no  one  was  allowed  to  build  there. 
Now  the  ramparts  are  partly  pulled  down  and  built  over, 
from  end  to  end  of  the  Wall;  making  a  thin  town  eighty  miles 
long.  Think  of  it !  One  roaring,  rioting,  cock-fighting,  wolf- 
baiting,  horse-racing  town,  from  Ituna  on  the  West  to  Sege- 
dunum  on  the  cold  eastern  beach!  On  one  side  heather, 
woods  and  ruins  where  Picts  hide,  and  on  the  other,  a  vast 
town  —  long  like  a  snake,  and  wicked  like  a  snake.  Yes,  a 
snake  basking  beside  a  warm  wall ! 

"My  Cohort,  I  was  told,  lay  at  Hunno,  where  the  Great 
North  Road  runs  through  the  Wall  into  the  Province  of 
Valentia."  Parnesius  laughed  scornfully.  "The  Province 
of  Valentia!  We  followed  the  road,  therefore,  into  Hunno 
town,  and  stood  astonished.  The  place  was  a  fair  —  a  fair 
of  peoples  from  every  corner  of  the  Empire.  Some  were 
racing  horses:  some  sat  in  wine-shops:  some  watched  dogs 
baiting  bears,  and  many  gathered  in  a  ditch  to  see  cocks 
fight.  A  boy  not  much  older  than  myself,  but  I  could  see 
he  was  an  Officer,  reined  up  before  me  and  asked  what  I 
wanted. 

"'My  station,'  I  said,  and  showed  him  my  shield."  Par- 
nesius held  up  his  broad  shield  with  its  three  X's  like  letters 
on  a  beer-cask. 

"  'Lucky  omen ! '  said  he.  '  Your  Cohort's  the  next  tower  to 
us,  but  they're  all  at  the  cock-fight.  This  is  a  happy  place. 
Come  and  wet  the  Eagles.'  He  meant  to  offer  me  a  drink. 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  49 

"'When  I've  handed  over  my  men,'  I  said.  I  felt  angry 
and  ashamed. 

"'Oh,  you'll  soon  outgrow  that  sort  of  nonsense/  he 
answered.  'But  don't  let  me  interfere  with  your  hopes. 
Go  on  to  the  Statue  of  Roma  Dea.  You  can't  miss  it.  The 
main  road  into  Valentia!'  and  he  laughed  and  rode  off.  I 
could  see  the  Statue  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and  there 
I  went.  At  some  time  or  other  the  Great  North  Road  ran 
under  it  into  Valentia;  but  the  far  end  had  been  blocked  up 
because  of  the  Picts,  and  on  the  plaster  a  man  had  scratched, 
'Finish!'  It  was  like  marching  into  a  cave.  We  grounded 
spears  together,  my  little  thirty,  and  it  echoed  in  the  barrel 
of  the  arch,  but  none  came.  There  was  a  door  at  one  side 
painted  with  our  number.  We  prowled  in,  and  I  found  a 
cook  asleep,  and  ordered  him  to  give  us  food.  Then  I 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  Wall,  and  looked  out  over  the 
Pict  country,  and  I  —  thought,"  said  Parnesius.  "The 
bricked-up  arch  with  'Finish!'  on  the  plaster  was  what 
shook  me,  for  I  was  not  much  more  than  a  boy." 

"What  a  shame!"  said  Una.  "But  did  you  feel  happy 
after  you'd  had  a  good  —  Dan  stopped  her  with  a 

nudge. 

"Happy?"  said  Parnesius.  "When  the  men  of  the  Cohort 
I  was  to  command  came  back  unhelmeted  from  the  cock-fight, 
their  birds  under  their  arms,  and  asked  me  who  I  was?  No, 
I  was  not  happy;  but  I  made  my  new  Cohort  unhappy 
too.  ...  I  wrote  my  Mother,  I  was  happy  but  oh,  my 
friends"  —he  stretched  arms  over  bare  knees  —  "I  would 
not  wish  my  worst  enemy  to  suffer  as  I  suffered  through 
my  first  months  on  the  WTall.  Remember  this:  among  the 
officers  was  scarcely  one,  except  myself  (and  I  thought  I  had 
lost  the  favor  of  Maximus,  my  General),  scarcely  one  who 
had  not  done  something  of  wrong  or  folly.  Either  he  had 


50       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

killed  a  man,  or  taken  money,  or  insulted  the  magistrates, 
or  blasphemed  the  Gods,  and  so  had  been  sent  to  the  Wall 
as  a  hiding-place  from  shame  or  fear.  And  the  men  were 
as  the  officers.  Remember,  also,  that  the  Wall  was,  manned 
by  every  breed  and  race  in  the  Empire.  No  two  towers 
spoke  the  same  tongue,  or  worshipped  the  same  Gods.  In 
one  thing  only  we  were  all  equal.  No  matter  what  arms  we 
had  used  before  we  came  to  the  Wall,  on  the  Wall  we  were 
all  archers,  like  the  Scythians.  The  Pict  cannot  run  away 
from  the  arrow,  or  crawl  under  it.  He  is  a  bowman  himself. 
He  knows!" 

"I  suppose  you  were  fighting  Picts  all  the  time,"  said  Dan. 

"Picts  seldom  fight.  I  never  saw  a  fighting  Pict  for  half 
a  year.  The  tame  Picts  told  us  they  had  all  gone  North." 

"What  is  a  tame  Pict?"  said  Dan. 

"A  Pict  —  there  were  many  such  —  who  speaks  a  few 
words  of  our  tongue,  and  slips  across  the  Wall  to  sell  ponies 
and  wolf-hounds.  Without  a  horse  and  a  dog,  and  a  friend, 
man  would  perish.  The  Gods  gave  me  all  three,  and  there 
is  no  gift  like  friendship.  Remember  this"  —  Parnesius 
turned  to  Dan  —  "when  you  become  a  young  man.  For 
your  fate  will  turn  on  the  first  true  friend  you  make." 

"He  means,"  said  Puck,  grinning,  "that  if  you  try  to  make 
yourself  a  decent  chap  when  you're  young,  you'll  make  rather 
decent  friends  when  you  grow  up.  If  you're  a  beast,  you'll 
have  beastly  friends.  Listen  to  the  Pious  Parnesius  on 
Friendship!" 

"I  am  not  pious,"  Parnesius  answered,  "but  I  know  what 
goodness  means;  and  my  friend,  though  he  was  without  hope, 
was  ten  thousand  times  better  than  I.  Stop  laughing,  Faun ! " 

"Oh,  Youth  Eternal  and  All-believing,"  cried  Puck,  as  he 
rocked  on  the  branch  above.  "Tell  them  about  your  Perti- 
nax." 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  51 

"He  was  that  friend  the  Gods  sent  me  —  the  boy  who 
spoke  to  me  when  I  first  came.  Little  older  than  myself, 
commanding  the  Augusta  Victoria  Cohort  on  the  tower 
next  to  us  and  the  Numidians.  In  virtue  he  was  far  my 
superior. 

"Then  why  was  he  on  the  Wall?"  Una  asked,  quickly. 
"They'd  all  done  something  bad.  You  said  so  yourself.'' 

"He  was  the  nephew,  his  Father  had  died,  of  a  great  rich 
man  in  Gaul  who  was  not  always  kind  to  his  Mother.  When 
Pertinax  grew  up,  he  discovered  this,  and  so  his  uncle  shipped 
him  off,  by  trickery  and  force,  to  the  Wall.  We  came  to 
know  each  other  at  a  ceremony  in  our  Temple  —  in  the  dark. 
It  was  the  Bull  Killing,"  Parnesius  explained  to  Puck. 

"/  see,"  said  Puck,  and  turned  to  the  children.  "That's 
something  you  wouldn't  quite  understand.  Parnesius  means 
he  met  Pertinax  in  church." 

"Yes  —  in  the  Cave  we  first  met,  and  we  were  both  raised 
to  the  degree  of  Gryphons  together."  Parnesius  lifted  his 
hand  toward  his  neck  for  an  instant.  "He  had  been  on  the 
Wall  two  years,  and  knew  the  Picts  well.  He  taught  me  first 
how  to  take  heather." 

"What's  that?  "said  Dan. 

"Going  out  hunting  in  the  Pict  country  with  a  tame  Pict. 
You  are  quite  safe  so  long  as  you  are  his  guest,  and  wear  a 
sprig  of  heather  where  it  can  be  seen.  If  you  went  alone  you 
would  surely  be  killed,  if  you  were  not  smothered  first  in  the 
bogs.  Only  the  Picts  know  their  way  about  those  black  and 
hidden  bogs.  Old  Allo,  the  one-eyed,  withered  little  Pict 
from  whom  we  bought  our  ponies,"  was  our  special  friend. 
At  first  we  went  only  to  escape  from  the  terrible  town,  and  to 
talk  together  about  our  homes.  Then  he  showed  us  how  to 
hunt  wolves  and  those  great  red  deer  with  horns  like  Jewish 
candlesticks.  The  Roman-born  officers  rather  looked  down 


52       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

on  us  for  doing  this,  but  we  preferred  the  heather  to  their 
amusements.  Believe  me,"  Parnesius  turned  again  to  Dan, 
"a  boy  is  safe  from  all  things  that  really  harm  when  he  is 
astride  a  pony  or  after  a  deer.  Do  you  remember,  O  Faun," 
he  turned  to  Puck,  "the  little  altar  I  built  to  the  Sylvan  Pan 
by  the  pine-forest  beyond  the  brook?" 

"Which?  The  stone  one  with  the  line  from  Xenophon?" 
said  Puck,  in  quite  a  new  voice. 

"No.  What  do  I  know  of  Xenophon?  That  was  Perti- 
nax  —  after  he  had  shot  his  first  mountain-hare  with  an 
arrow  —  by  chance !  Mine  I  made  of  round  pebbles  in 
memory  of  my  first  bear.  It  took  me  one  happy  day  to 
build."  Parnesius  faced  the  children  quickly. 

"And  that  was  how  we  lived  on  the  Wall  for  two  years  — 
a  little  scuffling  with  the  Picts,  and  a  great  deal  of  hunting 
with  old  Allo  in  the  Pict  country.  He  called  us  his  children 
sometimes,  and  we  were  fond  of  him  and  his  barbarians, 
though  we  never  let  them  paint  us  Pict  fashion.  The  marks 
endure  till  you  die." 

"How's  it  done?"  said  Dan.     "Anything  like  tattooing?" 

"They  prick  the  skin  till  the  blood  runs,  and  rub  in  colored 
juices.  Allo  was  painted  blue,  green,  and  red  from  his  forehead 
to  his  ankles.  He  said  it  was  part  of  his  religion.  He  told 
us  about  his  religion  (Pertinax  was  always  interested  in  such 
things),  and  as  we  came  to  know  him  well,  he  told  us  what 
was  happening  in  Britain  behind  the  Wall.  Many  things 
took  place  behind  us  in  those  days.  And,  by  the  Light  of 
the  Sun,"  said  Parnesius,  earnestly,  "there  was  not  much 
that  those  little  people  "did  not  know !  He  told  me  when 
Maximus  crossed  over  to  Gaul,  after  he  had  made  himself 
Emperor  of  Britain,  and  what  troops  and  emigrants  he  had 
taken  with  him.  We  did  not  get  the  news  on  the  Wall  till 
fifteen  days  later.  He  told  me  what  troops  Maximus  was 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  53 

taking  out  of  Britain  every  month  to  help  him  to  conquer 
Gaul;  and  I  always  found  the  numbers  as  he  said.  Won- 
derful! And  I  tell  another  strange  thing!" 

He  jointed  his  hands  across  his  knees,  and  leaned  his  head 
on  the  curve  of  the  shield  behind  him. 

"Late  in  the  summer,  when  the  first  frosts  begin  and  the 
Picts  kill  their  bees,  we  three  rode  out  after  wolf  with  some 
new  hounds.  Rutilianus,  our  General,  had  given  us  ten 
days'  leave,  and  we  had  pushed  beyond  the  Second  Wall  — 
beyond  the  Province  of  Valentia  —  into  the  higher  hills, 
where  there  are  not  even  any  of  Rome's  old  ruins.  We 
killed  a  she-wolf  before  noon,  and  while  Allo  was  skinning 
her  he  looked  up  and  said  to  me,  'When  you  are  Captain 
of  the  Wall,  my  child,  you  won't  be  able  to  do  this  any  more!' 

"I  might  as  well  have  been  made  Prefect  of  Lower  Gaul, 
so  I  laughed  and  said,  'Wait  till  I  am  Captain.'  'No  don't, 
wait,'  said  Allo.  'Take  my  advice  and  go  home  —  both  of 
you.'  'We  have  no  homes,'  said  Pertinax.  'You  know 
that  as  well  as  we  do.  We're  finished  men  —  thumbs  down 
against  both  of  us.  Only  men  without  hope  would  risk  their 
necks  on  your  ponies.'  The  old  man  laughed  one  of  those 
short  Pict  laughs  —  like  a  fox  barking  on  a  frosty  night. 
'I'm  fond  of  you  two,'  he  said.  'Besides,  I've  taught  you 
what  little  you  know  about  hunting.  Take  my  advice  and 
go  home.' 

"'We  can't,'  I  said.  'I'm  out  of  favor  with  my  General, 
for  one  thing;  and  for  another,  Pertinax  has  an  uncle.' 

"'I  don't  know  about  his  uncle,'  said  Allo,  'but  the  trouble 
with  you,  Parnesius,  is  that  your  General  thinks  well  of  you.' 

"'Roma  Dea!'  said  Pertinax,  sitting  up,  'What  can  you 
guess  what  Maximus  thinks,  you  old  horse-coper? ' 

"Just  then  (you  know  how  near  the  brutes  creep  when 
one  is  eating?)  a  great  dog-wolf  jumped  out  behind  us,  and 


54       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

away  our  rested  hounds  tore  after  him,  with  us  at  their 
tails.  He  ran  us  far  out  of  any  country  we'd  ever  heard  of, 
straight  as  an  arrow  till  sunset,  toward  the  sunset.  We 
came  at  last  to  long  capes  stretching  into  winding  waters, 
and  on  a  gray  beach  below  us  we  saw  ships  drawn  up.  Forty- 
seven  we  counted  —  not  Roman  galleys  but  the  raven- 
winged  ships  from  the  North  where  Rome  does  not  rule. 
Men  moved  in  the  ships,  and  the  sun  flashed  on  their  helmets 
—  winged  helmets  of  the  red-haired  men  form  the  North 
where  Rome  does  not  rule.  We  watched,  and  we  counted, 
and  we  wondered;  for  though  we  had  heard  rumors  concerning 
these  Winged  Hats,  as  the  Picts  called  them,  never  before  had 
we  looked  upon  them. 

"'Come  away!  Come  away!'  said  Allo.  'My  heather 
won't  protect  you  here.  We  shall  all  be  killed!'  His  legs 
trembled  like  his  voice.  Back  we  went  —  back  across  the 
heather  under  the  moon,  till  it  was  nearly  morning,  and  our 
poor  beasts  stumbled  on  some  ruins. 

"When  we  woke,  very  stiff  and  cold,  Allo  was  mixing 
the  meal  and  water.  One  does  not  light  fires  in  the  Pict 
country  except  near  a  village.  The  little  men  are  always 
signaling  to  each  other  with  smokes,  and  a  strange  smoke 
brings  them  out  buzzing  like  bees.  They  can  sting,  too ! 

"'What  we  saw  last  night  was  a  trading-station/  said 
Allo.  'Nothing  but  a  trading-station.' 

"'I  do  not  like  lies  on  an  empty  stomach,'  said  Pertinax. 
'I  suppose'  (he  had  eyes  like  an  eagle's),  'I  suppose  that 
is  a  trading-station  also?'  He  pointed  to  a  smoke  far  off 
on  a  hill-top,  ascending  in  what  we  call  the  Pict's  Call: 
Puff —  double-puff:  double-puff  —  puff!  They  make  it  by 
raising  and  dropping  a  wet  hide  on  a  fire. 

'"No/  said  Allo,  pushing  the  platter  back  into  the  bag. 
'That  is  for  you  and  me.  Your  fate  is  fixed.  Come/ 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  55 

''We  came.  When  one  takes  heather,  one  must  obey 
one's  Pict  —  but  that  wretched  smoke  was  twenty  miles 
distant,  well  over  on  the  east  coast,  and  the  day  was  as  hot 
as  a  bath. 

"'  Whatever  happens,'  said  Allo,  while  our  ponies  grunted 
along,  'I  want  you  to  remember  me.' 

"'I  shall  not  forget,'  said  Pertinax.  'You  have  cheated 
me  out  of  my  breakfast.' 

'"What  is  a  handful  of  crushed  oats  to  a  Roman?'  he  said. 
Then  he  laughed  his  laugh  that  was  not  a  laugh.  'What 
would  you  do  if  you  were  a  handful  of  oats  being  crushed 
between  the  upper  and  lower  stones  of  a  mill? ' 

"'I'm  Pertinax,  not  a  riddle-guesser,'  said  Pertinax. 

'"You're  a  fool,'  said  Allo.  'Your  Gods  and  my  Gods 
are  threatened  by  strange  Gods,  and  all  you  can  do  is  to 
laugh.' 

"'Threatened  men  live  long,'  I  said. 

'"I  pray  the  Gods  that  may  be  true,'  he  said.  'But  I 
ask  you  again  not  to  forget  me.' 

"We  climbed  the  last  hot  hill  and  looked  out  on  the  eastern 
sea,  three  or  four  miles  off.  There  was  a  small  sailing-galley 
of  the  North  Gaul  pattern  at  anchor,  her  landing-plank 
down  and  her  sail  half  up;  and  below  us,  alone  in  a  hollow, 
holding  his  pony,  sat  Maximus,  Emperor  of  Britain !  He  was 
dressed  like  a  hunter,  and  he  leaned  on  his  little  stick;  but 
I  knew  that  back  as  far  as  I  could  see  it,  and  I  told 
Pertinax. 

'"You're  madder  than  Allo!'  he  said.  It  must  be  the 
sun!' 

"Maximus  never  stirred  till  we  stood  before  him.  Then 
he  looked  me  up  and  down,  and  said:  'Hungry  again?  It 
seems  to  be  my  destiny  to  feed  you  whenever  we  meet.  I 
have  food  here.  Allo  shall  cook  it.' 


56       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"'No,'  said  Allo.  'A  Prince  in  his  own  land  does  not 
wait  on  wandering  Emperors.  I  feed  my  two  children 
without  asking  your  leave.'  He  began  to  blow  up  the 
ashes. 

"'I  was  wrong,'  said  Pertinax.  'We  are  all  mad.  Speak 
up,  O  Madman  called  Emperor!' 

"Maximus  smiled  his  terrible  tight-lipped  smile,  but  two 
years  on  the  Wall  do  not  make  a  man  afraid  of  mere  looks. 
So  I  was  not  afraid. 

"'I  meant  you,  Parnesius,  to  live  and  die  an  Officer  of  the 
Wall,'  said  Maximus.  'But  it  seems  from  these,'  he  fumbled 
in  his  breast,  'you  can  think  as  well  as  draw.'  He  pulled 
out  a  roll  of  letters  I  had  written  to  my  people,  full  of  draw- 
ings of  Picts,  and  bears  and  men  I  had  met  on  the  Wall. 
Mother  and  my  sister  always  liked  my  pictures. 

"He  handed  me  one  that  I  had  called  ' Maximus 's  Soldiers.' 
It  showed  a  row  of  fat  wine-skins,  and  our  old  Doctor  of  the 
Hunno  hospital  snuffing  at  them.  Each  time  that  Maximus 
had  taken  troops  out  of  Britain  to  help  him  to  conquer 
Gaul,  he  used  to  send  the  garrisons  more  wine  —  to  keep 
them  quiet,  I  suppose.  On  the  Wall,  we  always  called  a 
wine-skin  a  'Maximus.'  Oh,  yes;  and  I  had  drawn  them  in 
Imperial  helmets! 

"'Not  long  since,'  he  went  on,  'men's  names  were  sent 
up  to  Caesar  for  smaller  jokes  than  this.' 

"'True,  Caesar,'  said  Pertinax;  'but  you  forget  that  was 
before  I,  your  friend's  friend,  became  such  a  good  spear- 
thrower.' 

"He  did  not  actually  point  his  hunting  spear  at  Maximus, 
but  balanced  it  on  his  palm  —  so ! 

'"I  was  speaking  of  time  past,'  said  Maximus,  never 
fluttering  an  eyelid.  'Nowadays  one  is  only  too  pleased  to 
find  boys  who  can  think  for  themselves,  and  their  friends.' 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  57 

He  nodded  at  Pertinax.  'Your  Father  lent  me  the  letters, 
Parnesius,  so  you  run  no  risk  from  me.' 

"'None  whatever,'  said  Pertinax,  and  rubbed  the  spear- 
point  on  his  sleeve. 

'"I  have  been  forced  to  reduce  the  garrisons  in  Britain, 
because  I  need  troops  in  Gaul.  Now  I  come  to  take  troops 
from  the  Wall  itself/  said  he. 

"'I  wish  you  joy  of  us/  said  Pertinax.  'We're  the  last 
sweepings  of  the  Empire  —  the  men  without  hope.  Myself, 
I'd  sooner  trust  condemned  criminals.' 

"'You  think  so?'  he  said,  quite  seriously.  'But  it  will 
only  be  till  I  win  Gaul.  One  must  always  risk  one's  life,  or 
one's  soul,  or  one's  peace  —  or  some  little  thing.' 

"  Allo  passed  round  the  fire  with  the  sizzling  deer's  meat. 
He  served  us  two  first. 

"'Ah!'  said  Maximus,  waiting  his  turn.  'I  perceive  you 
are  in  your  own  country.  Well,  you  deserve  it.  They  tell  me 
you  have  quite  a  following  among  the  Picts,  Parnesius.' 

"'I  have  hunted  with  them/  I  said.  'Maybe  I  have  a 
few  friends  among  the  heather.' 

"'He  is  the  only  armored  man  of  you  all  who  understands 
us/  said  Allo,  and  he  began  a  long  speech  about  our  virtues, 
and  how  we  had  saved  one  of  his  grandchildren  from  a  wolf 
the  year  before." 

"Had  you?  "said  Una. 

"Yes;  but  that  was  neither  here  nor  there.  The  little 
green  man  orated  like  a  —  like  Cicero.  He  made  us  out  to 
be  magnificent  fellows.  Maximus  never  took  his  eyes  off 
our  faces. 

"'Enough/  he  said.  'I  have  heard  Allo  on  you.  I  wish 
to  hear  you  on  the  Picts.' 

"I  told  him  as  much  as  I  knew,  and  Pertinax  helped  me 
out.  There  is  never  harm  in  a  Pict  if  you  but  take  the  trouble 


58       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

to  find  out  what  he  wants.  Their  real  grievance  against 
us  came  from  our  burning  their  heather.  The  whole  garrison 
of  the  Wall  moved  out  twice  a  year,  and  solemnly  burned 
the  heather  for  ten  miles  North.  Rutilianus,  our  General, 
called  it  clearing  the  country.  The  Picts,  of  course,  scampered 
away,  and  all  we  did  was  to  destroy  their  bee-bloom  in  the 
summer,  and  ruin  their  sheep-food  in  the  spring. 

"'True,  quite  true,'  said  Allo.  'How  can  we  make  our 
holy  heather-wine,  if  you  burn  our  bee-pasture? ' 

"We  talked  long,  Maximus  asking  keen  questions  that 
showed  he  knew  much  and  had  thought  more  about  the 
Picts.  He  said  presently  to  me:  "If  I  gave  you  the  old 
Province  of  Valentia  to  govern,  could  you  keep  the  Picts 
contented  till  I  won  Gaul?  Stand  away,  so  that  you  do  not 
see  Allo's  face;  and  speak  your  own  thoughts.' 

"'No,'  I  said.  'You  cannot  re-make  that  Province.  The 
Picts  have  been  free  too  long. 

"'Leave  them  their  village  councils,  and  let  them  furnish 
their  own  soldiers,'  he  said.  'You,  I  am  sure,  would  hold 
the  reins  very  lightly.' 

"'Even  then,  no,' I  said.  'At  least  not  now.  They  have 
been  too  oppressed  by  us  to  trust  anything  with  a  Roman 
name  for  years  and  years.' 

"I  heard  old  Allo  behind  me  mutter:     'Good  child!' 

"'Then  what  do  you  recommend,'  said  Maximus,  'to  keep 
the  North  quiet  till  I  win  Gaul?' 

"  'Leave  the  Picts  alone,'  I  said.  '  Stop  the  heather-burning 
at  once,  and  —  they  are  improvident  little  animals  —  send 
them  a  shipload  or  two  of  corn  now  and  then.' 

"'Their  own  men  must  distribute  it  —  not  some  cheating 
Greek  accountant,'  said  Pertinax. 

"'Yes,  and  allow  them  to  come  to  our  hospitals  when  they 
are  sick,'  I  said. 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  59 

"'Surely  they  would  die  first/  said  Maximus. 

"'Not  if  Parnesius  brought  them  in/  said  Allo.  'I  could 
show  you  twenty  wolf-bitten,  bear-clawed  Picts  within 
twenty  miles  of  here.  But  Parnesius  must  stay  with  them 
in  Hospital,  else  they  would  go  mad  with  fear.' 

"'/  see/  said  Maximus.  'Like  everything  else  in  the 
world,  it  is  one  man's  work.  You,  I  think,  are  that  one 
man.' 

'"Pertinax  and  I  are  one/  I  said. 

"'As  you  please,  so  long  as  you  work.  Now,  Allo,  you 
know  that  I  mean  your  people  no  harm.  Leave  us  to  talk 
together/  said  Maximus. 

"'No  need!'  said  Allo.  'I  am  the  corn  between  the  upper 
and  lower  millstones.  I  must  know  what  the  lower  millstone 
means  to  do.  These  boys  have  spoken  the  truth  as  far  as 
they  know  it.  I,  a  Prince,  will  tell  you  the  rest.  I  am 
troubled  about  the  Men  of  the  North.'  He  squatted  like 
a  hare  in  the  heather,  and  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

"'I  also/  said  Maximus,  'or  I  should  not  be  here.' 

"'Listen/  said  Allo.  'Long  and  long  ago  the  Winged 
Hats'  —  he  meant  the  Northmen  —  '  came  to  our  beaches 
and  said,  "Rome  falls!  Push  her  down!"  We  fought  you. 
You  sent  men.  We  were  beaten.  After  that  we  said  to  the 
Winged  Hats,  "You  are  liars!  Make  our  men  alive  that 
Rome  killed,  and  we  will  believe  you."  They  went  away 
ashamed.  Now  they  come  back  bold,  and  they  tell  the  old 
tale,  which  we  begin  to  believe  —  that  Rome  falls ! ' 

"'Give  me  three  years'  peace  on  the  Wall/  cried  Maximus, 
'and  I  will  show  you  and  all  the  ravens  how  they  lie!' 

"'Ah,  I  wish  it  too!  I  wish  to  save  what  is  left  of  the  corn 
from  the  millstones.  But  you  shoot  us  Picts  when  we  come 
to  borrow  a  little  iron  from  the  Iron  Ditch;  you  burn  our 
heather,  which  is  all  our  crop;  you  trouble  us  with  your 


6o       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

great  catapults.  Then  you  hide  behind  the  Wall,  and 
scorch  us  with  Greek  fire.  How  can  I  keep  my  young  men 
from  listening  to  the  Winged  Hats  —  in  winter  especially, 
when  we  are  hungry?  My  young  men  will  say,  "Rome  can 
neither  fight  nor  rule.  She  is  taking  her  men  out  of  Britain. 
The  Winged  Hats  will  help  us  to  push  down  the  Wall.  Let 
us  show  them  the  secret  roads  across  the  bogs."  Do  7  want 
that?  No!'  He  spat  like  an  adder.  '/  would  keep  the 
secrets  of  my  people  though  I  were  burned  alive.  My  two 
children  here  have  spoken  truth.  Leave  us  Picts  alone. 
Comfort  us,  and  cherish  us,  and  feed  us  from  far  off  —  with 
the  hand  behind  your  back.  Parnesius  understands  us.  Let 
him  have  rule  on  the  Wall,  and  I  will  hold  my  young  men 
quiet  for'  —  he  ticked  it  off  on  his  fingers  —  'one  year 
easily:  the  next  year  not  so  easily:  the  third  year,  perhaps! 
See,  I  give  you  three  years.  If  then  you  do  not  show  us  that 
Rome  is  strong  in  men  and  terrible  in  arms,  the  Winged  Hats, 
I  tell  you,  will  sweep  down  the  Wall  from  either  sea  till  they 
meet  in  the  middle,  and  you  will  go.  /  shall  not  grieve  over 
that,  but  well  I  know  tribe  never  helps  tribe  except  for  one 
price.  We  Picts  will  go  too.  The  Winged  Hats  will  grind 
us  to  this!'  He  tossed  a  handful  of  dust  hi  the  air. 

" '  Oh,  Roma  Dea ! '  said  Maximus,  half  aloud.  '  It  is  always 
one  man's  work  —  always  and  everywhere!' 

"'And  one  man's  life,'  said  Allo.  'You  are  Emperor, 
but  not  a  God.  You  may  die.' 

"'I  have  thought  of  that,  too,'  said  he.  'Very  good. 
If  this  wind  holds,  I  shall  be  at  the  East  end  of  the  Wall 
by  morning.  To-morrow,  then,  I  shall  see  you  two  when  I 
inspect;  and  I  will  make  you  Captains  of  the  Wall  for  this 
work.' 

"'One  instant,  Caesar,'  said  Pertinax.  'All  men  have  their 
price.  I  am  not  bought  yet.' 


ON  THE  GREAT  WALL  61 

"'Do  you  also  begin  to  bargain  so  early?'  said  Maximus. 
'Well?' 

"'Give  me  justice  against  my  uncle  Icenus,  the  Duumvir 
of  Divio  in  Gaul,'  he  said. 

"'Only  a  life?  I  thought  it  would  be  money  or  an  office 
Certainly  you  shall  have  him.  Write  his  name  on  these 
tablets  —  on  the  red  side;  the  other  is  for  the  living!'  And 
Maximus  held  out  his  tablets. 

"'He  is  of  no  use  to  me  dead,'  said  Pertinax.  'My  mother 
is  a  widow.  I  am  far  off.  I  am  not  sure  he  pays  her  all  her 
dowry.' 

"'No  matter.  My  arm  is  reasonably  long.  We  will 
look  through  your  uncle's  accounts  in  due  time.  Now, 
farewell  till  to-morrow,  O  Captains  of  the  Wall ! ' 

"We  saw  him  grow  small  across  the  heather  as  he 
walked  to  the  galley.  There  were  Picts,  scores,  each  side 
of  him,  hidden  behind  stones.  He  never  looked  left  or 
right.  He  sailed  away  Southerly,  full  spread  before  the 
evening  breeze,  and  when  we  had  watched  him  out  to  sea, 
we  were  silent.  We  understood  Earth  bred  few  men  like  to 
this  man. 

"Presently  Allo  brought  the  ponies  and  held  them  for  us 
to  mount  —  a  thing  he  had  never  done  before. 

"'Wait  awhile,'  said  Pertinax,  and  he  made  a  little  altar 
of  cut  turf,  and  strewed  heather-bloom  atop,  and  laid  upon 
it  a  letter  from  a  girl  in  Gaul. 

"'What  do  you  do,  O  my  friend?'  I  said. 

"'I  sacrifice  to  my  dead  youth,'  he  answered,  and,  when 
the  flames  had  consumed  the  letter,  he  ground  them  out 
with  his  heel.  Then  we  rode  back  to  that  Wall  of  which 
we  were  to  be  Captains." 

Parnesius  stopped.  The  children  sat  still,  not  even  asking 
if  that  were  all  the  tale.  Puck  beckoned,  and  pointed  the  way 


62       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

out  of  the  wood.  "Sorry,"  he  whispered,  "but  you  must 
go  now." 

"We  haven't  made  him  angry,  have  we?"  said  Una.  "He 
looks  so  far  off,  and  —  and  —  thinky." 

"Bless  your  heart,  no.  Wait  till  to-morrow.  It  won't 
be  long.  Remember,  you've  been  playing  'Lays  of  Ancient 
Rome.'" 

And  as  soon  as  they  had  scrambled  through  their  gap, 
where  Oak,  Ash,  and  Thorn  grow,  that  was  all  they  remem- 
bered. 


THE  WINGED  HATS 

THE  next  day  happened  to  be  what  they  called  a  Wild 
Afternoon.  Father  and  Mother  went  out  to  pay 
calls;  Miss  Blake  went  for  a  ride  on  her  bicycle,  and 
they  were  left  all  alone  till  eight  o'clock. 

When  they  had  seen  their  dear  parents  and  their  dear 
preceptress  politely  off  the  premises  they  got  a  cabbage-leaf 
full  of  raspberries  from  the  gardener,  and  a  Wild  Tea  from 
Ellen.  They  ate  the  raspberries  to  prevent  their  squashing, 
and  they  meant  to  divide  the  cabbage-leaf  with  Three  Cows 
down  at  the  Theater,  but  they  came  across  a  dead  hedgehog 
which  they  simply  had  to  bury,  and  the  leaf  was  too  useful 
to  waste. 

Then  they  went  on  to  the  Forge  and  found  old  Hobden 
the  hedger  at  home  with  his  son  the  Bee  Boy  who  is  not  quite 
right  in  his  head,  but  who  can  pick  up  swarms  of  bees  in  his 
naked  hands;  and  the  Bee  Boy  told  them  the  rhyme  about 
the  slow-worm : 

"  If  I  had  eyes  as  I  could  see, 
No  mortal  man  would  trouble  me." 

They  all  had  tea  together  by  the  hives,  and  Hobden  said 
the  loaf-cake  which  Ellen  had  given  them  was  almost  as  good 
as  what  his  wife  used  to  make,  and  he  showed  them  how 
to  set  a  wire  at  the  right. height  for  hares.  They  knew  about 
rabbits  already. 

63 


64       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Then  they  climbed  up  Long  Ditch  into  the  lower  end  of 
Far  Wood.  This  is  sadder  and  darker  than  the  "  Volaterrae" 
end  because  of  an  old  marlpit  full  of  black  water,  where 
weepy,  hairy  moss  hangs  round  the  stumps  of  the  willows 
and  alders.  But  the  birds  come  to  perch  on  the  dead  branches, 
and  Hobden  says  that  the  bitter  willow-water  is  a  sort  of 
medicine  for  sick  animals. 

They  sat  down  on  a  felled  oak-trunk  in  the  shadows  of  the 
beech  undergrowth,  and  were  looping  the  wires  Hobden  had 
given  them,  when  they  saw  Parnesius. 

"How  quietly  you  came!"  said  Una,  moving  up  to  make 
room.  "Where's  Puck?" 

"The  Faun  and  I  have  disputed  whether  it  is  better  that 
I  should  tell  you  all  my  tale,  or  leave  it  untold,"  he  replied. 

"I  only  said  that  if  he  told  it  as  it  happened  you  wouldn't 
understand  it,"  said  Puck,  jumping  up  like  a  squirrel  from 
behind  the  log. 

"I  don't  understand  all  of  it,"  said  Una,  "but  I  like  hearing 
about  the  little  Picts." 

"What  7  can't  understand,"  said  Dan,  "is  how  Maximus 
knew  all  about  the  Picts  when  he  was  over  in  Gaul." 

"He  who  makes  himself  Emperor  anywhere  must  know 
everything,  everywhere,"  said  Parnesius.  "We  had  this 
much  from  Maximus'  mouth  after  the  Games." 

"Games?    What  games?"  said  Dan. 

Parnesius  stretched  his  arm  out  stiffly,  thumb  pointed  to 
the  ground.  "Gladiators!  That  sort  of  game,"  he  said. 
"  There  were  two  days'  Games  in  his  honor  when  he  landed 
all  unexpected  at  Segedunum  on  the  East  end  of  the  Wall. 
Yes,  the  day  after  we  had  met  him  we  held  two  days'  games ; 
but  I  think  the  greatest  risk  was  run,  not  by  the  poor  wretches 
on  the  sand,  but  by  Maximus.  In  the  old  days  the  Legions 
kept  silence  before  their  Emperor.  So  did  not  we!  You 


THE  WINGED  HATS  65 

could  hear  the  solid  roar  run  West  along  the  Wall  as  his  chair 
was  carried  rocking  through  the  crowds.  The  garrison  beat 
round  him  —  clamoring,  clowning,  asking  for  pay,  for  change 
of  quarters,  for  anything  that  came  into  their  wild  heads. 
That  chair  was  like  a  little  boat  among  waves,  dipping  and 
falling,  but  always  rising  again  after  one  had  shut  the  eyes." 
Parnesius  shivered. 

"Were  they  angry  with  him?"  said  Dan. 

"No  more  angry  than  wolves  in  a  cage  when  their  trainer 
walks  among  them.  If  he  had  turned  his  back  an  instant, 
or  for  an  instant  had  ceased  to  hold  their  eyes,  there  would 
have  been  another  Emperor  made  on  the  Wall  that  hour. 
Was  it  not  so,  Faun?" 

"So  it  was.     So  it  always  will  be,"  said  Puck. 

"Late  in  the  evening  his  messenger  came  for  us,  and  we 
followed  to  the  Temple  of  Victory,  where  he  lodged  with 
Rutilianus,  the  General  of  the  Wall.  I  had  hardly  seen 
the  General  before,  but  he  always  gave  me  leave  when  I  wished 
to  take  Heather.  He  was  a  great  glutton,  and  kept  five 
Asian  cooks,  and  he  came  of  a  family  that  believed  in  oracles. 
We  could  smell  his  good  dinner  when  we  entered,  but  the 
tables  were  empty.  He  lay  snorting  on  a  couch.  Maximus 
sat  apart  among  long  rolls  of  accounts.  Then  the  doors 
were  shut. 

"'These  are  your  men,'  said  Maximus  to  the  General,  who 
propped  his  eye-corners  open  with  his  gouty  fingers,  and 
stared  at  us  like  a  fish. 

"'I  shall  know  them  again,  Caesar,'  said  Rutilianus. 

"'Very  good,'  said  Maximus.  'Now  hear!  You  are  not 
to  move  man  or  shield  on  the  Wall  except  as  these  boys 
shall  tell  you.  You  will  do  nothing,  except  eat,  without 
their  permission.  They  are  the  head  and  arms.  You  are 
the  belly!' 


66       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

" '  As  Caesar  pleases,'  the  old  man  grunted.  '  If  my  pay  and 
profits  are  not  cut,  you  may  make  my  Ancestors'  Oracle  my 
master.  Rome  has  been!  Rome  has  been!'  Then  he  turned 
on  his  side  to  sleep. 

"'He  has  it,'  said  Maximus.     'We  will  get  to  what  7  need.' 

"He  unrolled  full  copies  of  the  number  of  men  and  supplies 
on  the  Wall  —  down  to  the  sick  that  very  day  in  Hunno 
Hospital.  Oh,  but  I  groaned  when  his  pen  marked  off  detach- 
ment after  detachment  of  our  best  —  of  our  least  worthless 
men!  He  took  two  towers  of  our  Scythians,  two  of  our 
North  British  auxiliaries,  two  Numidian  cohorts,  the  Dacians 
all,  and  half  the  Belgians.  It  was  like  an  eagle  pecking  a 
carcass. 

'"And  now,  how  many  catapults  have  you?'  He  turned 
up  a  new  list,  but  Pertinax  laid  his  open  hand  there. 

'"No,  Caesar,'  said  he.  'Do  not  tempt  the  Gods  too  far. 
Take  men,  or  engines,  but  not  both;  else  we  refuse.'" 

"Engines?"  said  Una. 

"The  catapults  of  the  Wall  —  huge  things  forty  feet  high 
to  the  head  —  firing  nets  of  raw  stone  or  forged  bolts.  Nothing 
can  stand  against  them.  He  left  us  our  catapults  at  last, 
but  he  took  a  Caesar's  half  of  our  men  without  pity.  We 
were  a  shell  when  he  rolled  up  the  lists! 

"'Hail,  Caesar!  We,  about  to  die,  salute  you!'  said  Perti- 
nax, laughing.  'If  any  enemy  even  leans  against  the  Wall 
now,  it  will  tumble.' 

'"Give  me  the  three  years  Allo  spoke  of,'  he  answered, 
'and  you  shall  have  twenty  thousand  men  of  your  own 
choosing  up  here.  But  now  it  is  a  gamble  —  a  game  played 
against  the  Gods,  and  the  stakes  are  Britain,  Gaul,  and,  per- 
haps, Rome.  You  play  on  my  side? ' 

"'We  will  play,  Caesar,'  I  said,  for  I  had  never  met  a  man 
like  this  man. 


THE  WINGED  HATS  67 

"'Good.  To-morrow,'  said  he,  'I  proclaim  you  Captains 
of  the  Wall  before  the  troops.' 

"So  we  went  into  the  moonlight,  where  they  were  cleaning 
the  ground  after  the  Games.  We  saw  great  Roma  Dea 
atop  of  the  Wall,  the  frost  on  her  helmet,  and  her  spear 
pointed  toward  the  North  Star.  We  saw  the  twinkle  of 
night-fires  all  along  the  guard-towers,  and  the  line  of  the 
black  catapults  growing  smaller  and  smaller  in  the  distance. 
All  these  things  we  knew  till  we  were  weary;  but  that  night 
they  seemed  very  strange  to  us,  because  the  next  day  we 
knew  we  were  to  be  their  masters. 

"The  men  took  the  news  well;  but  when  Maximus  went 
away  with  half  our  strength,  and  we  had  to  spread  ourselves 
into  the  emptied  towers,  and  the  townspeople  complained 
that  trade  would  be  ruined,  and  the  Autumn  gales  blew  — 
it  was  dark  days  for  us  two.  Here  Pertinax  was  more  than 
my  right  hand.  Being  born  and  bred  among  the  great 
country-houses  in  Gaul,  he  knew  the  proper  words  to  address 
to  all  —  from  Roman-born  Centurions  to  those  dogs  of  the 
Third  —  the  Libyans.  And  he  spoke  to  each  as  though 
that  man  were  as  high-minded  as  himself.  Now  7  saw 
so  strongly  what  things  were  needed  to  be  done,  that  I  forgot 
things  are  only  accomplished  by  means  of  men.  That  was 
a  mistake. 

"I  feared  nothing  from  the  Picts,  at  least  for  that  year, 
but  Allo  warned  me  that  the  Winged  Hats  would  soon 
come  in  from  the  sea  at  each  end  of  the  Wall  to  prove  to  the 
Picts  how  weak  we  were.  So  I  made  ready  in  haste,  and 
none  too  soon.  I  shifted  our  best  men  to  the  ends  of  the 
Wall,  and  set  up  screened  catapults  by  the  beach.  The 
Winged  Hats  would  drive  in  before  the  snow-squalls  — 
ten  or  twenty  boats  at  a  time  —  on  Segedunum  or  Ituna, 
according  as  the  wind  blew. 


68       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"Now  a  ship  coming  in  to  land  men  must  furl  her  sail. 
If  you  wait  till  you  see  her  men  gather  up  the  sail's  foot, 
your  catapults  can  jerk  a  net  of  loose  stones  (bolts  only  cut 
through  the  cloth)  into  the  bag  of  it.  Then  she  turns  over, 
and  the  sea  makes  everything  clean  again.  A  few  men 
may  come  ashore,  but  very  few.  ...  It  was  not  hard 
work,  except  the  waiting  on  the  beach  in  blowing  sand 
and  snow.  And  that  was  how  we  dealt  with  the  Winged 
Hats  that  winter. 

"Early  in  the  Spring,  when  the  East  winds  blow  like 
skinning-knives,  they  gathered  again  off  the  East  end  with 
many  ships.  Allo  told  me  they  would  never  rest  till  they 
had  taken  a  tower  in  open  fight.  Certainly  they  fought 
in  the  open.  We  dealt  with  them  thoroughly  through  a  long 
day:  and,  when  all  was  finished,  one  man  dived  clear  of  the 
wreckage  of  his  ship,  and  swam  toward  shore.  I  waited, 
and  a  wave  tumbled  him  at  my  feet. 

"As  I  stooped  I  saw  he  wore  such  a  medal  as  I  wear." 
Parnesius  raised  his  hand  to  his  neck.  "Therefore,  when  he 
could  speak  I  addressed  him  a  certain  Question  which  can 
only  be  answered  in  a  certain  manner.  He  answered  with 
the  necessary  Word  —  the  Word  that  belongs  to  the  Degree 
of  Gryphons  in  the  science  of  Mithras  my  God.  I  put  my 
shield  over  him  till  he  could  stand  up.  You  see  I  am  not 
short,  but  he  was  a  head  taller  than  I.  He  said:  'What 
now?'  I  said:  'At  your  pleasure,  my  brother,  to  stay  or 

go-' 

"He  looked  out  across  the  surf.  There  remained  one  ship 
unhurt,  beyond  range  of  our  catapults.  I  checked  the  cata- 
pults and  he  waved  her  in.  She  came  as  a  hound  comes 
to  a  master.  When  she  was  yet  a  hundred  paces  from  the 
beach,  he  flung  back  his  hair,  and  swam  out.  They  hauled 
him  in,  and  went  away.  I  knew  that  those  who  worship 


THE  WINGED  HATS  69 

Mithras  are  many  and  of  all  races,  so  I  did  not  think  much 
more  upon  the  matter. 

"A  month  later  I  saw  Allo  with  his  horses  —  by  the 
Temple  of  Pan,  O  Faun !  —  and  he  gave  me  a  great  necklace 
of  gold  studded  with  coral. 

"At  first  I  thought  it  was  a  bribe  from  some  tradesman 
in  the  town  —  meant  for  old  Rutilianus.  'Nay,'  said  Allo. 
'This  is  a  gift  from  Amal,  that  Winged  Hat  whom  you  saved 
on  the  beach.  He  says  you  are  a  Man.' 

"'He  is  a  Man,  too.  Tell  him  I  can  wear  his  gift,'  I 
answered. 

"'Oh,  Amal  is  a  young  fool;  but,  speaking  as  sensible 
men,  your  Emperor  is  doing  such  great  things  in  Gaul  that 
the  Winged  Hats  are  anxious  to  be  his  friends,  or,  better 
still,  the  friends  of  his  servants.  They  think  you  and  Perti- 
nax  could  lead  them  to  victories.'  Allo  looked  at  me  like 
a  one-eyed  raven. 

" '  Allo,'  I  said,  'you  are  the  corn  between  the  two  millstones. 
Be  content  if  they  grind  evenly,  and  don't  thrust  your  hand 
between  them.' 

"'I?'  said  Allo.  'I  hate  Rome  and  the  Winged  Hats 
equally;  but  if  the  Winged  Hats  thought  that  some  day 
you  and  Pertinax  might  join  them  against  Maximus  they 
would  leave  you  in  peace  while  you  considered.  Time  is 
what  we  need  —  you  and  I  and  Maximus.  Let  me  carry 
a  pleasant  message  back  to  the  Winged  Hats  —  something 
for  them  to  make  a  council  over.  We  barbarians  are  all 
alike.  We  sit  up  half  the  night  to  discuss  anything  a  Roman 
says.  Eh?' 

"'We  have  no  men.  We  must  fight  with  words,'  said 
Pertinax.  'Leave  it  to  Allo  and  me.' 

"So  Allo  carried  word  back  to  the  Winged  Hats  that  we 
would  not  fight  them  if  they  did  not  fight  us;  and  they  (I 


70       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

think  they  were  a  little  tired  of  losing  men  in  the  sea)  agreed 
to  a  sort  of  truce.  I  believe  Allo,  who,  being  a  horse-dealer 
loved  lies,  also  told  them  we  might  some  day  rise  against 
Maximus  as  Maximus  had  risen  against  Rome. 
.  "Indeed,  they  permitted  the  corn-ships  which  I  sent  to 
the  Picts  to  pass  North  that  season  without  harm.  Therefore 
the  Picts  were  well  fed  that  winter,  and,  since  they  were 
in  some  sort  my  children,  I  was  glad  of  it.  We  had  only 
two  thousand  men  on  the  Wall,  and  I  wrote  many  times  to 
Maximus  and  begged  —  prayed  —  him  to  send  me  only  one 
cohort  of  my  old  North  British  troops.  He  could  not  spare 
them.  He  needed  them  to  win  more  victories  in  Gaul. 

"Then  came  news  that  he  had  defeated  and  slain  the 
Emperor  Gratian,  and  thinking  he  must  now  be  secure,  I 
wrote  again  for  men.  He  answered:  'You  will  learn  that 
I  have  at  last  settled  accounts  with  the  pup  Gratian.  There 
was  no  need  that  he  should  have  died,  but  he  became  confused 
and  lost  his  head,  which  is  a  bad  thing  to  befall  any  Emperor. 
Tell  your  Father  I  am  content  to  drive  two  mules  only; 
for  unless  my  old  General's  son  thinks  himself  destined 
to  destroy  me,  I  shall  rest  Emperor  of  Gaul  and  Britain 
and  then  you,  my  two  children,  will  presently  get  all  the 
men  you  need.  Just  now  I  can  spare  none.'" 

"What  did  he  mean  by  his  General's  son?"  said  Dan. 

"He  meant  Theodosius  Emperor  of  Rome,  who  was  the 
son  of  Theodosius  the  General  under  whom  Maximus  had 
fought  in  the  old  Pict  War.  The  two  men  never  loved  each 
other,  and  when  Gratian  made  the  younger  Theodosius 
Emperor  of  the  East  (at  least,  so  I've  heard),  Maximus 
carried  on  the  war  to  the  second  generation.  It  was  his  fate, 
and  it  was  his  fall.  But  Theodosius  the  Emperor  is  a  good 
man.  As  I  know."  Parnesius  was  silent  for  a  moment 
and  then  continued: 


THE  WINGED  HATS  71 

"I  wrote  back  to  Maximus  that,  though  we  had  peace 
on  the  Wall,  I  should  be  happier  with  a  few  more  men  and 
some  new  catapults.  He  answered:  'You  must  live  a  little 
longer  under  the  shadow  of  my  victories,  till  I  can  see  what 
young  Theodosius  intends.  He  may  welcome  me  as  a  brother 
Emperor,  or  he  may  be  preparing  an  army.  In  either  case 
I -cannot  spare  men  just  now.'"' 

"But  he  was  always  saying  that,"  cried  Una. 

"It  was  true.  He  did  not  make  excuses;  but  thanks,  as 
he  said,  to  the  news  of  his  victories,  we  had  no  trouble  on 
the  Wall  for  a  long,  long  time.  The  Picts  grew  fat  as  their 
own  sheep  among  the  heather,  and  as  many  of  my  men 
as  lived  were  well  exercised  in  their  weapons.  Yes,  the 
Wall  looked  strong.  For  myself,  I  knew  how  weak  we  were. 
I  knew  that  if  even  a  false  rumor  of  any  defeat  to  Maximus 
broke  loose  among  the  Winged  Hats,  they  might  come  down 
in  earnest,  and  then  —  the  Wall  must  go!  For  the  Picts  I 
never  cared,  but  in  those  years  I  learned  something  of  the 
strength  of  the  Winged  Hats.  They  increased  their  strength 
every  day,  but  I  could  not  increase  my  men.  Maximus  had 
emptied  Britain  behind  us,  and  I  felt  myself  to  be  a  man 
with  a  rotten  stick  standing  before  a  broken  fence  to  turn 
bulls. 

"Thus,  my  friends,  we  lived  on  the  Wall,  waiting  —  wait- 
ing —  waiting  for  the  men  that  Maximus  never  sent ! 

"Presently  he  wrote  that  he  was  preparing  an  army  against 
Theodosius.  He  wrote  —  and  Pertinax  read  it  over  my 
shoulder  in  our  quarters:  ' Tell  your  Father  that  my  destiny 
orders  me  to  drive  three  mules  or  be  torn  in  pieces  by  them. 
I  hope  within  a  year  to  finish  with  Theodosius,  son  of  Theo- 
dosius, once  and  for  all.  Then  you  shall  have  Britain  to  rule, 
and  Pertinax,  if  he  chooses,  Gaul.  To-day  I  wish  strongly 
you  were  with  me  to  beat  my  Auxiliaries  into  shape.  Do 


72        KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

not,  I  pray  you,  believe  any  rumor  of  my  sickness.  I  have 
a  little  evil  in  my  old  blood  which  I  shall  cure  by  riding  swiftly 
into  Rome.' 

"  Said  Pertinax :  '  It  is  finished  with  Maximus !  He  writes 
as  a  man  without  hope.  I,  a  man  without  hope,  can  see 
this.  What  does  he  add  at  the  bottom  of  the  roll?  "Tell 
Pertinax  I  have  met  his  late  Uncle,  the  Duumvir  of  Divio, 
and  that  he  accounted  to  me  quite  truthfully  for  all  his  Mother's 
monies.  I  have  sent  her  with  a  fitting  escort,  for  she  is  the 
mother  of  a  hero,  to  Nic&a,  where  the  climate  is  warm." 

"'That  is  proof!'  said  Pertinax.  'Nicaea  is  not  far  by  sea 
from  Rome.  A  woman  there  could  take  ship  and  fly  to 
Rome  in  time  of  war.  Yes,  Maximus  foresees  his  death, 
and  is  fulfilling  his  promises  one  by  one.  But  I  am  glad 
my  Uncle  met  him.'  ' 

"'You  think  blackly  to-day?'  I  asked. 

"'I  think  truth.  The  Gods  weary  of  the  play  we  have 
played  against  them.  Theodosius  will  destroy  Maximus. 
It  is  finished ! ' 

"'Will  you  write  him  that?'  I  said. 

"'See  what  I  shall  write,'  he  answered,  and  he  took  pen 
and  wrote  a  letter  cheerful  as  the  light  of  day,  tender  as  a 
woman's  and  full  of  jests.  Even  I,  reading  over  his  shoulder, 
took  comfort  from  it  till  —  I  saw  his  face ! 

"'And  now,'  he  said,  sealing  it,  'we  be  two  dead  men, 
my  brother.  Let  us  go  to  the  Temple.' 

"We  prayed  a  while  to  Mithras,  where  we  had  many  times 
prayed  before.  After  that  we  lived  day  by  day  among  evil 
rumors  till  winter  came  again. 

"It  happened  one  morning  that  we  rode  to  the  East  Shore, 
and  found  on  the  beach  a  fair-haired  man,  half  frozen,  bound 
to  some  broken  planks.  Turning  him  over,  we  saw  by  his 
belt-buckle  that  he  was  a  Goth  of  an  Eastern  Legion.  Sud- 


THE  WINGED  HATS  73 

denly  he  opened  his  eyes  and  cried  loudly:  'He  is  dead! 
The  letters  were  with  me,  but  the  Winged  Hats  sunk  the 
ship.'  So  saying,  he  died  between  our  hands. 

"We  asked  not  who  was  dead.  We  knew!  We  raced 
before  the  driving  snow  to  Hunno,  thinking  perhaps  Allo 
might  be  there.  We  found  him  already  at  our  stables,  and 
he  saw  by  our  faces  what  we  had  heard. 

"'It  was  in  a  tent  by  the  Sea,'  he  stammered.  'He  was 
beheaded  by  Theodosius.  He  sent  a  letter  to  you,  written 
while  he  waited  to  be  slain.  The  Winged  Hats  met  the  ship 
and  took  it.  The  news  is  running  through  the  heather  like 
fire.  Blame  me  not!  I  cannot  hold  back  my  young  men 
any  more.' 

" 'I  would  we  could  say  as  much  for  our  men,'  said  Pertinax, 
laughing.  'But,  Gods  be  praised,  they  cannot  run  away.' 

"'What  do  you  do?'  said  Allo.  'I  bring  an  order  —  a 
message  —  from  the  Winged  Hats  that  you  join  them  with 
your  men,  and  march  South  to  plunder  Britain.' 

'"It  grieves  me,'  said  Pertinax,  'but  we  are  stationed  here 
to  stop  that  thing.' 

"'If  I  carry  back  such  an  answer  they  will  kill  me,'  said 
Allo.  'I  always  promised  the  Winged  Hats  that  you  would 
rise  when  Maximus  fell.  I  —  I  did  not  think  he  could  fall.' 

'"Alas!  my  poor  barbarian,'  said  Pertinax,  still  laughing. 
'Well,  you  have  sold  us  too  many  good  ponies  to  be  thrown 
back  to  your  friends.  We  will  make  you  a  prisoner,  although 
you  are  an  ambassador.' 

"'Yes,  that  will  be  best/  said  Allo,  holding  out  a  halter. 
We  bound  him  lightly,  for  he  was  an  old  man. 

"'Presently  the  Winged  Hats  may  come  to  look  for  you, 
and  that  will  give  us  more  time.  See  how  the  habit  of  playing 
for  time  sticks  to  a  man!'  said  Pertinax,  as  he  tied  the  rope. 

"'No,'  I  said.     'Time  may  help.     If  Maximus  wrote  us 


74       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

letters  while  he  was  a  prisoner,  Theodosius  must  have  sent  the 
ship  that  brought  it.     If  he  can  send  ships,  he  can  send  men.' 

"'How  will  that  profit  us?'  said  Pertinax.  'We  serve 
Maximus,  not  Theodosius.  Even  if  by  some  miracle  of  the 
Gods  Theodosius  down  South  sent  and  saved  the  Wall,  we 
could  not  expect  more  than  the  death  Maximus  died.' 

"'It  concerns  us  to  defend  the  Wall,  no  matter  what 
Emperor  dies,  or  makes  die,'  I  said. 

"'That  is  worthy  of  your  brother  the  philosopher,'  said 
Pertinax.  '  Myself  I  am  without  hope,  so  I  do  not  say  solemn 
and  stupid  things!  Rouse  the  Wall!' 

"We  armed  the  Wall  from  end  to  end;  we  told  the  officers 
that  there  was  a  rumor  of  Maximus's  death  which  might 
bring  down  the  Winged  Hats,  but  we  were  sure,  even  if  it 
were  true,  that  Theodosius,  for  the  sake  of  Britain,  would 
send  us  help.  Therefore  we  must  stand  fast.  .  .  .  My 
friends,  it  is  above  all  things  strange  to  see  how  men  bear 
ill  news!  Often  the  strongest  till  then  become  the  weakest, 
while  the  weakest,  as  it  were,  reach  up  and  steal  strength  from 
the  Gods.  So  it  was  with  us.  Yet  my  Pertinax  by  his  jests 
and  his  courtesy  and  his  labors  had  put  heart  and  training 
into  our  poor  numbers  during  the  past  years  —  more  than 
I  should  have  thought  possible.  Even  our  Libyan  Cohort  — 
the  Thirds  —  stood  up  in  their  padded  cuirasses  and  did 
not  whimper. 

"In  three  days  came  seven  chiefs  and  elders  of  the  Winged 
Hats.  Among  them  was  that  tall  young  man,  Amal,  whom 
I  had  met  on  the  beach,  and  he  smiled  when  he  saw  my 
necklace.  We  made  them  welcome,  for  they  were  ambas- 
sadors. We  showed  them  Allo,  alive  but  bound.  They 
thought  we  had  killed  him,  and  I  saw  it  would  not  have 
vexed  them  if  we  had.  Allo  saw  it  too,  and  it  vexed  him. 
Then  in  our  quarters  at  Hunno  we  came  to  Council. 


THE  WINGED  HATS  75 

"They  said  that  Rome  was  falling,  and  that  we  must  join 
them.  They  offered  me  all  South  Britain  to  govern  after 
they  had  taken  a  tribute  out  of  it. 

"I  answered,  'Patience.  This  Wall  is  not  weighed  off 
like  plunder.  Give  me  proof  that  my  General  is  dead.' 

"'Nay,'  said  one  elder,  'prove  to  us  that  he  lives';  and 
another  said,  cunningly,  'What  will  you  give  us  if  we  read 
you  his  last  words? ' 

"'We  are  not  merchants  to  bargain/  cried  Amal.  'More- 
over, I  owe  this  man  my  life.  He  shall  have  his  proof.' 
He  threw  across  to  me  a  letter  (well  I  knew  the  seal)  from 
Maximus. 

" '  We  took  this  out  of  the  ship  we  sunk,'  he  cried.  '  I  cannot 
read,  but  I  know  one  sign,  at  least,  which  makes  me  believe.' 
He  showed  me  a  dark  stain  on  the  outer  roll  that  my  heavy 
heart  perceived  was  the  valiant  blood  of  Maximus. 

"'Read!'  said  Amal.  'Read,  and  then  let  us  hear  whose 
servants  you  are ! ' 

"Said  Pertinax,  very  softly,  after  he  had  looked  through 
it:  'I  will  read  it  all.  Listen,  barbarians!'  He  read  from 
that  which  I  have  carried  next  my  heart  ever  since. " 

Parnesius  drew  from  his  neck  a  folded  and  spotted  piece 
of  parchment,  and  began  in  a  hushed  voice :  — 

'"To  Parnesius  and  Pertinax,  the  not  unworthy  Captains 
of  the  Wall,  from  Maximus,  once  Emperor  of  Gaul  and  Britain, 
now  prisoner  waiting  death  by  the  sea  in  the  camp  of  Theo- 
dosius  —  Greeting  and  Good-bye  ! ' 

"'Enough,'  said  young  Amal;  'there  is  your  proof!  You 
must  join  us  now ! ' 

"Pertinax  looked  long  and  silently  at  him,  till  that  fair 
man  blushed  like  a  girl.  Then  read  Pertinax:  - 

"'/  have  joyfully  done  much  evil  in  my  life  to  those  who 
have  wished  me  evil,  but  if  ever  I  did  any  evil  to  you  two  I  repent, 


76       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

and  I  ask  your  forgiveness.  The  three  mules  which  I  strove 
to  drive  have  torn  me  in  pieces  as  your  Father  prophesied. 
The  naked  swords  wait  at  the  tent  door  to  give  me  the  death 
I  gave  to  Gratian.  Therefore  I,  your  General  and  your  Emperor, 
send  you  free  and  honorable  dismissal  from  my  service,  which 
you  entered,  not  for  money  or  office,  but,  as  it  makes  me  warm  to 
believe,  because  you  loved  me  I ' 

"'By  the  light  of  the  Sun/  Amal  broke  in.  'This  was 
in  some  sort  a  Man!  We  may  have  been  mistaken  in  his 
servants ! ' 

"And  Pertinax  read  on:  'You  gave  me  the  time  for  which 
I  asked.  If  I  have  failed  to  use  it,  do  not  lament.  We  have 
gambled  very  splendidly  against  the  Gods,  but  they  hold  weighted 
dice,  and  I  must  pay  the  forfeit.  Remember,  I  have  been;  but 
Rome  is;  and  Rome  will  be!  Tell  Pertinax  his  Mother  is  in 
safety  at  Nic&a,  and  her  monies  are  in  charge  of  the  Prefect 
at  Antipolis.  Make  my  remembrances  to  your  Father  and 
to  your  Mother,  whose  friendship  was  great  gain  to  me.  Give 
also  to  my  little  Picts  and  to  the  Winged  Hats  such  messages 
as  their  thick  heads  can  understand.  I  would  have  sent  you  three 
Legions  this  very  day  if  all  had  gone  aright.  Do  not  forget 
me.  We  have  worked  together.  Farewell!  Farewell!  Fare- 
well!' 

"Now,  that  was  my  Emperor's  last  letter.  (The  children 
heard  the  parchment  crackle  as  Parnesius  returned  it  to  its 
place.) 

"'I  was  mistaken/  said  Amal.  'The  servants  of  such  a 
man  will  sell  nothing  except  over  the  sword.  I  am  glad  of 
it.'  He  held  out  his  hand  to  me. 

" 'But  Maximus  has  given  you  your  dismissal/  said  an  elder. 
'  You  are  certainly  free  to  serve  —  or  to  rule  —  whom  you 
please.  Join  —  do  not  follow  — -join  us!' 

'"We  thank  you/  said  Pertinax.     'But  Maximus  tells  us 


THE  WINGED  HATS  77 

to  give  you  such  messages  as  — pardon  me,  but  I  use  his 
words  —  your  thick  heads  can  understand.'  He  pointed 
through  the  door  to  the  foot  of  a  catapult  wound  up. 

"'We  understand/  said  an  elder.  'The  Wall  must  be 
won  at  a  price?' 

"'It  grieves  me,'  said  Pertinax,  laughing,  'but  so  it  must 
be  won,'  and  he  gave  them  of  our  best  Southern  wine. 

"They  drank,  and  wiped  their  yellow  beards  in  silence 
till  they  rose  to  go. 

"Said  Amal,  stretching  himself  (for  they  were  barbarians), 
'We  be  a  goodly  company;  I  wonder  what  the  ravens  and  the 
dogfish  will  make  of  some  of  us  before  this  snow  melts.' 

"'Think  rather  what  Theodosius  may  send,'  I  answered; 
and  though  they  laughed,  I  saw  that  my  chance  shot  troubled 
them. 

"Only  old  Allo  lingered  behind  a  little. 

"'You  see,'  he  said,  winking  and  blinking,  'I  am  no  more 
than  their  dog.  When  I  have  shown  their  men  the  secret 
short  ways  across  our  bogs,  they  will  kick  me  like  one.' 

'"Then  I  should  not  be  hi  haste  to  show  them  those  ways,' 
said  Pertinax,  'till  I  were  sure  that  Rome  could  not  save 
the  Wall.' 

"'You  think  so?  Woe  is  me!'  said  the  old  man.  'I 
only  wanted  peace  for  my  people,'  and  he  went  out  stumbling 
through  the  snow  behind  the  tall  Winged  Hats. 

"In  this  fashion  then,  slowly,  a  day  at  a  time,  which 
is  very  bad  for  doubting  troops,  the  War  came  upon  us.  At 
first  the  Winged  Hats  swept  in  from  the  sea  as  they  had 
done  before,  and  there  we  met  them  as  before  —  with  the 
catapults;  and  they  sickened  of  it.  Yet  for  a  long  time  they 
would  not  trust  their  duck-legs  on  land,  and  I  think  when  it 
came  to  revealing  the  secrets  of  the  tribe,  the  little  Picts 
were  afraid^or  ashamed  to  show  them  all  the  roads  across 


78       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

the  heather.  I  had  this  from  a  Pict  prisoner.  They  were 
as  much  our  spies  as  our  enemies,  for  the  Winged  Hats  op- 
pressed them,  and  took  their  winter  stores.  Ah,  foolish 
Little  People! 

"Then  the  Winged  Hats  began  to  roll  us  up  from  each  end 
of  the  Wall.  I  sent  runners  Southward  to  see  what  the  news 
might  be  in  Britain;  but  the  wolves  were  very  bold  that 
winter  among  the  deserted  stations  where  the  troops  had 
once  been,  and  none  came  back.  We  had  trouble  too  with 
the  forage  for  the  ponies  along  the  Wall.  I  kept  ten,  and  so 
did  Pertinax.  We  lived  and  slept  in  the  saddle  riding  east 
or  west,  and  we  ate  our  worn-out  ponies.  The  people  of  the 
town  also  made  us  some  trouble  till  I  gathered  them  all  in 
one  quarter  behind  Hunno.  We  broke  down  the  Wall  on 
either  side  of  it  to  make  as  it  were  a  citadel.  Our  men  fought 
better  in  close  order. 

"By  the  end  of  the  second  month  we  were  deep  in  the 
War  as  a  man  is  deep  in  a  snowdrift  or  in  a  dream.  I  think 
we  fought  in  our  sleep.  At  least  I  know  I  have  gone  on  the 
Wall  and  come  off  again,  remembering  nothing  between, 
though  my  throat  was  harsh  with  giving  orders,  and  my 
sword,  I  could  see,  had  been  used. 

"The  Winged  Hats  fought  like  wolves  —  all  in  a  pack. 
WTiere  they  had  suffered  most,  there  they  charged  in  most 
hotly.  This  was  hard  for  the  defender,  but  it  held  them  from 
sweeping  on  into  Britain. 

"In  those  days  Pertinax  and  I  wrote  on  the  plaster  of  the 
bricked  archway  into  Valentia  the  names  of  the  towers,  and 
the  days  on  which  they  fell  one  by  one.  We  wished  for  some 
record. 

"And  the  fighting?  The  fight  was  always  hottest  to  left 
and  right  of  the  great  Statue  of  Roma  Dea,  near  to  Rutilianus' 
house.  By  the  light  of  the  Sun,  that  old  fat  man,  whom  we 


THE  WINGED  HATS  79 

had  not  considered  at  all,  grew  young  again  among  the 
trumpets!  I  remember  he  said  his  sword  was  an  oracle! 
'Let  us  consult  the  Oracle,'  he  would  say,  and  put  the  handle 
against  his  ear,  and  shake  his  head  wisely.  'And  this  day 
is  allowed  Rutilianus  to  live,'  he  would  say,  and,  tucking 
up  his  cloak,  he  would  puff  and  pant  and  fight  well.  Oh, 
there  were  jests  in  plenty  on  the  Wall  to  take  the  place  of  food! 

"We  endured  for  two  months  and  seventeen  days  —  always 
being  pressed  from  three  sides  into  a  smaller  space.  Several 
times  Allo  sent  in  word  that  help  was  at  hand.  We  did  not 
believe  it,  but  it  cheered  our  men. 

"The  end  came  not  with  shoutings  of  joy,  but,  like  the 
rest,  as  in  a  dream.  The  Winged  Hats  suddenly  left  us  in 
peace  for  one  night,  and  the  next  day;  which  is  too  long  for 
spent  men.  WTe  slept  at  first  lightly,  expecting  to  be  roused, 
and  then  like  logs,  each  where  he  lay.  May  you  never  need 
such  sleep!  When  I  waked  our  towers  were  full  of  strange, 
armed  men,  who  watched  us  snoring.  I  roused  Pertinax, 
and  we  leaped  up  together. 

"'What?'  said  a  young  man  in  clean  armor.  'Do  you 
fight  against  Theodosius?  Look!' 

"North  we  looked  over  the  red  snow.  No  Winged  Hats 
were  there.  South  we  looked  over  the  white  snow,  and 
behold  there  were  the  Eagles  of  two  strong  Legions  encamped. 
East  and  west  we  saw  flame  and  fighting,  but  by  Hunno 
all  was  still. 

'"Trouble  no  more,'  said  the  young  man.  'Rome's  arm 
is  long.  Where  are  the  Captains  of  the  Wall? ' 

"We  said  we  were  those  men. 

"'But  you  are  old  and  gray-haired.'  he  cried.  'Maximus 
said  that  they  were  boys.' 

" '  Yes,  that  was  true  some  years  ago,'  said  Pertinax.  '  What 
is  our  fate  to  be,  you  fine  and  well-fed  child?' 


8o       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"'I  am  called  Ambrosius,  a  secretary  of  the  Emperor,' 
he  answered.  'Show  me  a  certain  letter  wnich  Maximus 
wrote  from  a  tent  at  Aquileia,  and  perhaps  I  will  believe.' 

"I  took  it  from  my  breast,  and  when  he  had  read  it  he 
saluted  us,  saying:  'Your  fate  is  in  your  own  hands.  If 
you  choose  to  serve  Theodosius,  he  will  give  you  a  Legion. 
If  it  suits  you  to  go  to  your  homes,  we  will  give  you  a  Tri- 
umph.' 

"'I  would  like  better  a  bath,  wine,  food,  razors,  soaps, 
oils,  and  scents,'  said  Pertinax,  laughing. 

"' Oh,  I  see  you  are  a  boy,'  said  Ambrosius.  'And  you?' 
turning  to  me. 

"'We  bear  no  ill-will  against  Theodosius,  but  in  War >' 

I  began. 

"'In  War  it  is  as  it  is  in  Love,'  said  Pertinax.  'Whether 
she  be  good  or  bad,  one  gives  one's  best  once,  to  one  only. 
That  given,  there  remains  no  second  worth  giving  or  taking.' 

'"That  is  true,'  said  Ambrosius.  'I  was  with  Maximus 
before  he  died.  He  warned  Theodosius  that  you  would 
never  serve  him,  and  frankly  I  say  I  am  sorry  for  my  Emperor.' 

"'He  has  Rome  to  console  him,'  said  Pertinax.  'I  ask 
you  of  your  kindness  to  let  us  go  to  our  homes  and  get  this 
smell  out  of  our  nostrils.' 

"None  the  less  they  gave  us  a  Triumph!" 

"It  was  well  earned,"  said  Puck,  throwing  some  leaves 
into  the  still  water  of  the  marlpit.  The  black,  oily  circles 
spread  dizzily  as  the  children  watched  them. 

"I  want  to  know,  oh,  ever  so  many  things,"  said  Dan. 
"What  happened  to  old  Allo?  Did  the  Winged  Hats  ever 
come  back?  And  what  did  Amal  do?" 

"And  what  happened  to  the  fat  old  General  with  the  five 
cooks?"  said  Una.  "And  what  did  your  Mother  say  when 
you  came  home?"  . 


THE  WINGED  HATS  81 

"She'd  say  you're  settin'  too  long  over  this  old  pit,  so  late 
as  'tis  already,"  said  old  Hobden's  voice  behind  them. 
"Hst!"  he  whispered. 

He  stood  still,  for  not  twenty  paces  away  a  magnificent 
dog-fox  sat  on  his  haunches  and  looked  at  the  children  as 
though  he  were  an  old  friend  of  theirs. 

"Oh,  Mus'  Reynolds,  Mus'  Reynolds!"  said  Hobden, 
under  his  breath.  "If  I  knowed  all  was  inside  your  head, 
I'd  know  something  wuth  knowin'.  Mus'  Dan  an'  Miss 
Una,  come  along  o'  me  while  I  lock  up  my  liddle  hen-house." 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  SARAH  SANDS 

MEN  have  sailed  the  seas  for  so  many  years,  and  have 
there  done  such  amazing  things  in  the  face  of  danger, 
difficulty,  and  death,  that  no  one  tale  of  heroism 
exists  which  cannot  be  capped  by  at  least  a  score  of  others. 
But  since  the  behavior  of  bodies  of  untried  men  under  trying 
circumstances  is  always  interesting,  and  since  I  have  been  put 
in  possession  of  some  facts  not  very  generally  known,  I  will 
try  here  to  tell  you  the  story  of  the  Sarah  Sands. 

She  was  a  small,  four-masted  —  you  must  specially  remem- 
ber the  masts  —  iron-built  screw  steamer  of  eleven  hundred 
tons,  chartered  to  take  out  British  troops  to  India.  That 
was  in  1857,  the  year  of  the  Indian  Mutiny,  when  everything 
that  could  sail  or  steer  was  in  great  demand  —  for  troops 
were  being  rushed  into  the  country  against  time. 

Among  the  regiments  was  the  54th  of  the  Line,  now  the 
Second  Battalion  of  the  Dorset  Regiment  —  a  good  corps 
about  a  hundred  years  old,  with  a  very  fair  record  of  service, 
but  in  no  special  way  differing,  so  far  as  one  can  see,  from  a 
hundred  other  regiments.  It  was  hurried  out  in  three  ships. 
The  Headquarters  —  that  is  to  say,  the  Lieutenant-Colonel, 
the  regimental  books,  pay-chest,  band  and  Colors  —  you 
must  specially  remember  the  Colors  —  with  some  fourteen 
officers,  three  hundred  and  fifty-four  rank  and  file,  and 
perhaps  a  dozen  women,  left  Portsmouth,  England,  on  the 
1 5th  of  August,  1857,  all  packed  tight  in  the  Sarah  Sands. 

82 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  SARAH  SANDS        83 

Her  crew,  with  the  exception  of  the  engineers  and  the 
firemen,  seemed  to  have  been  foreigners  and  pier-head  jumpers 
picked  up  at  the  last  minute.  They  were  bad,  lazy  and 
insubordinate. 

The  accommodation  for  the  troops  was  generously  described 
as  "inferior,"  and  what  men  called  "inferior"  fifty  years 
ago  would  now  be  called  vile.  Nor,  in  spite  of  the  need, 
was  there  any  great  swiftness  about  the  Sarah  Sands.  She 
took  two  long  months  to  reach  Cape  Town,  and  she  stayed 
there  five  days  to  coal,  leaving  on  the  2oth  of  October.  By 
this  time  the  crew  were  all  but  openly  mutinous,  and  the 
troops,  who  must  have  learned  a  little  seamanship  by  that 
time,  worked  her  out  of  the  harbor. 

On  the  yth  of  November,  nearly  three  weeks  later,  a  squall 
struck  her  and  carried  away  her  foremast,  and  it  is  to  be 
presumed  that  the  troops  turned  to  and  cleared  away  the 
wreckage.  On  the  nth  of  November  the  real  trouble  began, 
for,  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  three  months  out  from 
Portsmouth,  a  party  of  soldiers  working  in  the  hold  saw  smoke 
coming  from  the  after-hatch.  The  Sarah  Sands  was  then, 
maybe,  within  a  thousand  miles  of  Mauritius,  in  half  a  gale 
and  a  sea  full  of  sharks.  Captain  'Castles,  the  skipper, 
promptly  lowered  and  provisioned  the  boats;  got  them  over- 
side with  some  difficulty  and  put  the  women  into  them. 
Some  of  the  sailors,  the  bad  kind  —  the  engineers  and  the 
firemen  and  a  few  others  behaved  well  —  jumped  into  the 
long-boat  and  kept  away  from  the  ship.  They  knew  she 
carried  two  magazines  full  of  cartridges. 

The  troops,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not  make  any  fuss, 
but  under  their  officers'  orders  cleared  out  the  starboard 
or  right-hand  magazine,  while  volunteers  tried  to  save  the 
regimental  Colors.  These  stood  at  the  end  of  the  first-class 
saloon,  probably  clamped  against  a  partition  behind  the 


84       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

captain's  chair,  and  the  saloon  was  full  of  smoke.  Two 
lieutenants  made  a  dash  for  them,  and  were  nearly  suffocated. 
A  ship's  quartermaster  —  Richard  Richmond  was  his  name  - 
put  a  wet  cloth  over  his  face,  managed  to  tear  down  the 
Colors,  and  then  fainted.  A  private  —  and  his  name  was 
W.  Wiles  —  dragged  out  both  Richmond  and  the  Colors, 
and  the  two  men  dropped  senseless  on  deck  while  the  troops 
cheered.  That,  at  least,  was  a  good  omen  for  the  beginning 
of  the  fight. 

The  saloon  must  have  been  one  of  the  narrow,  cabin-lined, 
old-fashioned  "cuddies,"  placed  aft,  above  the  screw,  and 
all  the  fire  was  in  the  stern  of  the  ship,  abaft  the  engine-room. 
It  was  blazing  very  close  to  the  port  or  left-hand  magazine, 
and  as  an  explosion  there  would  have  blown  the  Sarah  Sands 
in  two,  they  called  for  more  volunteers,  and  one  of  the  lieu- 
tenants who  had  been  choked  in  the  saloon  went  down  into 
that  port  magazine  and  passed  up  a  barrel  of  ammunition, 
which  was  joyfully  hove  overboard.  After  this  example  work 
went  on  regularly. 

They  pulled  up  the  fainting  men  with  ropes  while  those 
who  did  not  faint  grabbed  what  cartridge  barrels  they  could 
get  at  in  the  smother,  and  an  official  and  serene  Quartermaster- 
sergeant  stood  on  the  hatch  as  he  jotted  down  the  number 
of  rescued  barrels  in  his  note-book.  They  pulled  out  all 
except  two,  which  slid  from  the  arms  of  a  fainting  man  — 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  fainting  that  evening  —  and  rolled 
out  of  reach.  Besides  these,  there  were  somewhere  in  that 
magazine  two  barrels  of  signaling  powder  for  the  ship's 
use,  but  this  the  troops  did  not  know,  and  were  the  more 
comfortable  for  their  ignorance. 

Then  the  flames  broke  through  the  after-deck,  the  light 
attracting  shoals  of  sharks,  and  the  mizzen-mast  flared  up 
and  went  overside  with  a  crash.  The  drag  of  the  drifting 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  SARAH  SANDS        85 

lumber  would  have  pulled  the  ship's  stern  to  the  wind,  in 
which  case  the  flames  must  have  swept  forward  and  destroyed 
everything;  but  a  man  with  a  hatchet  ran  along  the  bulwarks 
and  cut  the  wreck  clear,  while  the  boats  surged  and  rocked 
at  a  safe  distance  and  the  sharks,  so  it  is  said,  tried  to  upset 
them  with  their  tails. 

A  captain  of  the  54th  —  he  was  a  jovial  soul,  and  made 
jokes  throughout  the  affair  —  headed  a  party  of  men  to  cut 
away  the  bridge,  the  deck  cabins,  and  everything  else  that 
was  inflammable  —  this  in  case  the  flames  should  sweep 
forward  again  —  while  a  provident  lieutenant  with  some  more 
troops  lashed  spars  and  things  together  for  a  raft,  and  other 
gangs  pumped  water  desperately  on  to  what  was  left  of  the 
saloon  and  the  magazines.  Work  was  carried  on,  more  or 
less,  in  military  fashion. 

One  record  says  quaintly:  "It  was  necessary  to  make 
some  deviation  from  the  usual  military  evolutions  while  the 
flames  were  in  progress.  The  men  formed  in  sections,  coun- 
termarched round  the  forward  part  of  the  ship,  which  may 
perhaps  be  better  understood  when  it  is  stated  that  those 
with  their  faces  to  the  after  part  where  the  fire  raged  were 
on  their  way  to  relieve  their  comrades  who  had  been  working 
below.  Those  proceeding  "forward"  were  going  to  recruit 
their  exhausted  strength  and  prepare  for  another  attack  when 
it  came  to  their  turn." 

No  one  seemed  to  have  much  hope  of  saving  the  ship  so 
long  as  the  last  powder  was  unexploded.  Indeed,  Captain 
Castles  told  an  officer  of  the  54th  that  the  game  was  up, 
and  the  officer  replied:  "We'll  fight  till  we're  driven  over- 
board!" It  seemed  that  he  would  be  taken  at  his  word, 
for  just  then  the  signaling  powder  and  the  two  missing 
ammunition  casks  blew  up,  and  the  ship  from  midships  aft 
looked  like  one  volcano. 


86       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

The  cartridges  sputtered  like  crackers,  and  cabin  doors 
and  timbers  were  shot  all  over  the  deck,  and  two  or  three 
men  were  hurt.  But  —  this  isn't  in  any  official  record  — 
just  after  the  roar  of  it,  when  the  ship's  stern  was  dipping 
and  all  believed  the  Sarah  Sands  was  settling  for  her  last 
lurch,  some  merry  jester  of  the  54th  cried  "Lights  out! "  and 
the  jovial  captain  shouted  back,  "All  right,  we'll  keep  the 
old  woman  afloat  yet!"  Not  one  man  of  the  troops  made 
any  attempt  to  get  on  to  the  rafts;  and  when  they  found 
the  ship  was  still  floating  they  went  to  work  double 
tides. 

At  this  point  in  the  story  we  come  across  Mr.  Eraser,  the 
Scottish  engineer,  who,  like  all  his  countrymen,  had  been 
holding  his  trump  card  in  reserve.  He  knew  the  Sarah 
Sands  was  built  with  a  water-tight  bulkhead  behind  the 
engine-room  and  the  coal  bunkers;  and  he  proposed  to  cut 
through  the  decks  above  that  bulkhead  and  drown  out  the 
fire  by  pumping  water  on  it  generously.  Also,  he  pointed 
out  that  it  would  be  as  well  to  remove  the  coal  hi  the  bunkers, 
as  the  iron  bulkhead  was  almost  red-hot  and  the  coal  was 
catching  light. 

So  volunteers  dropped  into  the  bunkers,  each  man  for  the 
minute  or  two  that  he  could  endure,  and  shoveled  away  the 
singeing,  fuming  fuel,  and  other  volunteers  were  lowered  with 
ropes  into  the  bonfire  aft,  and  when  they  could  throw  no 
more  water  on  that  they  were  hauled  up  half  roasted. 

Mr.  Eraser's  plan  saved  the  ship,  though  every  particle 
of  wood  in  the  after  part  of  her  was  destroyed,  and  a  bluish 
vapor  hung  over  the  red-hot  iron  beams  and  ties,  and  the  sea 
for  miles  about  looked  like  blood  under  the  glare,  as  men 
pumped  and  passed  water  in  buckets,  flooding  the  burned-out 
stern,  sluicing  the  bulkhead  and  damping  the  coal  beyond  the 
bulkhead  all  through  the  long  night.  The  very  sides  of  the 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  SARAH  SANDS        87 

ship  were  red-hot,  so  that  they  wondered  when  tne  plates 
would  buckle  and  wrench  out  the  rivets  and  let  the  whole 
freight  down  to  the  sharks. 

The  mizzen-mast,  as  you  know,  had  gone;  the  main-mast, 
though  wrapped  round  with  wet  blankets,  was  alight,  and 
everything  abaft  the  main-mast  was  one  red  furnace.  There 
was  the  constant  danger  of  the  ship,  now  broadside  on  to  the 
heavy  seas,  falling  off  before  the  wind  and  leading  the  flames 
forward  again.  So  they  hailed  the  boats  to  tow  and  hold 
her  head  to  wind;  but  only  the  gig  obeyed.  The  others 
had  all  they  could  do  to  keep  afloat;  one  of  them  had  been 
swamped,  though  all  the  people  were  saved,  and  as  for  the 
long-boat  full  of  mutinous  seamen,  she  behaved  infamously. 
One  record  says  that  "She  not  only  held  aloof,  but  consigned 
the  ship  and  all  she  carried  to  perdition."  So  the  Sarah 
Sands  fought  for  her  own  life  alone. 

About  three  on  the  morning  of  the  i2th  of  November, 
pumping,  bucketing,  sluicing,  and  damping,  they  began  to 
hope  that  they  had  bested  the  fire.  By  nine  o'clock  they 
saw  steam  coming  up  instead  of  smoke,  and  at  midday 
they  called  in  the  boats  and  took  stock  of  the  damage.  From 
the  mizzen-mast  aft  there  was  nothing  that  you  could  call 
ship  except  the  mere  shell  of  her.  It  was  a  steaming  heap 
of  scrap-iron  with  twenty  feet  of  black,  greasy  water  flooding 
across  the  bent  and  twisted  beams  and  rods,  and  in  the 
middle  of  it  all,  four  huge  water-tanks  rolled  to  and  fro, 
thundering  against  the  naked  iron  sides. 

Moreover  —  they  could  not  see  this  till  things  had  cooled 
down  —  the  explosion  of  the  powder  had  blown  a  hole  right 
through  the  port  quarter  and  every  time  she  rolled  the  sea 
came  in  green.  Of  the  four  masts  only  one  was  left;  and 
the  rudder-head  stuck  up  all  bald  and  black  and  naked 
among  the  jam  of  collapsed  deck-beams.  The  photograph 


88       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

of  the  wreck  looks  exactly  like  that  of  a  gutted  theater  after 
the  flames  and  the  firemen  have  done  their  worst. 

They  spent  the  whole  of  the  i2th  of  November  pumping 
water  out  of  the  ship  as  zealously  as  they  had  pumped  it  in; 
they  lashed  up  the  loose  tanks  somehow  as  soon  as  they 
were  cool  enough  to  touch;  and  they  plugged  the  hole  at 
the  stern  with  hammocks,  sails  and  planks  and  a  sail  over  all. 
Then  they  rigged  up  a  horizontal  bar  gripping  the  rudder- 
head.  Six  men  sat  on  planks  on  one  side  of  it  and  six  at  the 
other,  hauling  at  the  bar  with  ropes  and  letting  go  as  they 
were  told.  That  made  as  good  a  man-power  steering  gear 
as  they  could  expect. 

On  the  1 3th  of  November,  still  pumping,  they  spread 
one  sail  on  their  solitary  mast  —  you  see  now  how  lucky 
it  was  that  the  Sarah  Sands  had  started  with  four  of  them  — 
and  took  advantage  of  the  trade  winds  to  make  for  Mauritius. 
Captain  Castles,  with  one  chart  and  one  compass,  lived  in 
a  tent  where  some  cabins  had  once  stood,  and  at  the  end  of 
twelve  days  he  sighted  land.  Their  average  run  was  about 
four  knots  an  hour;  so  it  is  no  wonder  that  as  soon  as  they 
were  off  Port  Louis,  Mauritius,  Mr.  Frasef,  the  Scottish 
engineer,  wished  to  start  his  engines.  I  suppose  it  must 
have  been  a  matter  of  professional  honor  with  him  not  to 
arrive  in  port  under  sail  alone.  The  troops  looked  down  into 
the  black  hollow  of  the  ship  as  the  shaft  made  its  first  revolu- 
tion shaking  the  hull  horribly;  and  if  you  can  realize  what 
it  means  to  be  able  to  see  a  naked  screw-shaft  at  work  from 
the  upper  deck  of  a  liner,  you  can  realize  what  had  happened 
to  the  Sarah  Sands.  They  waited  outside  Port  Louis  for  the 
daylight,  and  were  nearly  dashed  to  pieces  on  a  coral  reef. 
Then  they  came  in  without  loss  of  a  single  life  —  very  dirty, 
their  clothes  so  charred  that  they  hardly  dared  take  them 
off,  and  very  hungry.  Port  Louis  gave  them  public  banquets 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  SARAH  SANDS        89 

in  the  market  place,  and  the  French  inhabitants  were  fascinat- 
ingly polite,  as  only  the  French  can  be. 

But  the  records  say  nothing  of  what  befell  the  sailors  who 
"consigned  the  ship  to  perdition."  One  account  merely 
hints  that  "this  was  no  time  for  retribution,"  but  the  troops 
had  probably  administered  their  own  justice  to  these  gentle- 
men during  the  twelve  days'  sail  to  Mauritius.  The  men 
who  were  berthed  aft,  the  officers  and  the  women  lost  every- 
thing they  had;  and  the  companies  who  had  been  berthed 
forward  and  so  kept  some  kit  lent  them  clothes  and  canvas 
to  make  clothing. 

On  the  2oth  of  December  they  were  all  re-embarked  from 
Mauritius  on  the  Clarendon.  It  was  poor  accommodation 
for  heroes.  The  Clarendon  had  been  condemned  as  a  coolie- 
ship,  and  was  full  of  centipedes  and  other  animals  picked  up 
in  the  Brazil  trade.  Her  engines  broke  down  frequently; 
and  her  captain  died  of  exposure  and  anxiety  during  a  hur- 
ricane. It  was  the  25th  of  January  before  she  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  Hugli. 

By  this  time  —  many  men  probably  considered  this  quite 
as  serious  as  the  fire  —  the  troops  were  out  of  tobacco,  and 
when  they  came  across  the  American  ship,  Hamlet,  Captain 
Lecran,  lying  at  Kedgeree  on  the  way  up  the  Hugli  to 
Calcutta,  the  officers  rowed  over  to  ask  if  there  was  any 
tobacco  for  sale.  They  told  the  skipper  the  history  of  their 
adventures  and  he  said:  "Well,  I'm  glad  you've  come  to 
me,  because  I  have  some  tobacco.  How  many  men  are  you?  " 
"Three  hundred,"  said  the  officers.  Thereupon  Captain 
Lecran  got  out  four  hundred  pounds  of  best  Cavendish  as 
well  as  one  thousand  Manila  cigars  for  the  officers,  and  refused 
to  take  payment  on  the  grounds  that  Americans  did  not 
accept  anything  from  shipwrecked  people.  They  were  not 
shipwrecked  at  the  time,  but  evidently  they  had  been  ship- 


9o       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

wrecked  quite  enough  for  Captain  Lecran  because  when 
they  rowed  back  a  second  time  and  tried  to  insist  on  paying 
for  the  tobacco  he  only  gave  them  some  more  grog,  "which," 
the  record  says,  "caused  it  to  be  dark  when  we  returned  to 
our  ship."  After  pipes  were  lit  "our  band  played  'Yankee 
Doodle,'  blue  lights  were  burned,  the  signal-gun  fired"  — 
that  must  have  been  a  lively  evening  at  Kedgeree  —  "and 
everything  in  our  power  was  had  recourse  to  so  as  to  convey 
to  our  American  cousins  our  appreciation  of  their  kindness." 

Last  of  all  the  Commander-in-Chief  issued  a  General 
Order  to  be  read  at  the  head  of  every  regiment  in  the  British 
Army.  He  was  pleased  to  observe  that  "the  behavior  of 
the  54th  Regiment  was  most  praiseworthy,  and  by  its  result 
must  render  manifest  to  all  the  advantage  of  subordination 
and  strict  obedience  to  orders  under  the  most  alarming  and 
dangerous  circumstances  in  which  soldiers  can  be  placed." 

That  is  the  moral  of  my  tale. 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES 

IT  WAS  almost  the  end  of  their  visit  to  the  seaside.  They 
had  turned  themselves  out  of  doors  while  their  trunks 
were  being  packed,  and  strolled  over  the  Downs  toward 
the  dull  evening  sea.  The  tide  was  dead  low  under  the 
chalk  cliffs,  and  the  little  wrinkled  waves  grieved  along  the 
sands  up  the  coast  to  Newhaven  and  down  the  coast  to  long, 
gray  Brighton,  whose  smoke  trailed  out  across  the  Channel. 

They  walked  to  The  Gap  where  the  cliff  is  only  a  few  feet 
high.  A  windlass  for  hoisting  shingle  from  the  beach  below 
stands  at  the  edge  of  it.  The  Coastguard  cottages  are  a  little 
farther  on,  and  an  old  ship's  figure-head  of  a  Turk  in  a  turban 
stared  at  them  over  the  wall. 

"  This  time  to-morrow  we  shall  be  at  home,  thank  goodness," 
said  Una.  "  I  hate  the  sea !" 

"I  believe  it's  all  right  in  the  middle,"  said  Dan.  "The 
edges  are  the  sorrowful  parts." 

Cordery,  the  coastguard,  came  out  of  the  cottage,  leveled 
his  telescope  at  some  fishing  boats,  shut  it  with  a  click  and 
walked  away.  He  grew  smaller  and  smaller  along  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  where  neat  piles  of  white  chalk  every  few  yards 
show  the  path  even  on  the  darkest  night. 

"Where's  Cordery  going?"  said  Una. 

"Halfway  to  Newhaven,"  said  Dan.  "Then  he'll  meet 
the  Newhaven  coastguard  and  turn  back.  He  says  if  coast- 

01 


92       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

guards  were   done  away  with  smuggling  would  start  up  at 
once." 
A  voice  on  the  beach  under  the  cliff  began  to  sing: 

"The  moon  she  shined  on  Telscombe  Tye — 

On  Telscombe  Tye  at  night  it  was — 
She  saw  the  smugglers  riding  by, 
A  very  pretty  sight  it  was!" 

Feet  scrabbled  on  the  flinty  path.  A  dark,  thin-faced 
man  in  very  neat  brown  clothes  and  broad-toed  shoes  came 
up,  followed  by  Puck. 

"Three  Dunkirk  boats  was  standin'  in!" 

the  man  went  on. 

"Hssh!"  said  Puck.  "You'll  shock  these  nice  young 
people." 

"Oh!  Shall  I?  Mille  pardons!"  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders almost  up  to  his  ears  —  spread  his  hands  abroad,  and 
jabbered  in  French.  "No  comprenny?"  he  said.  "I'll  give 
it  you  in  Low  German."  And  he  went  off  in  another  language, 
changing  his  voice  and  manner  so  completely  that  they  hardly 
knew  him  for  the  same  person.  But  his  dark,  beady-brown 
eyes  still  twinkled  merrily  in  his  lean  face,  and  the  children 
felt  that  they  did  not  suit  the  straight,  plain,  snuffy-brown 
coat,  brown  knee-breeches  and  broad-brimmed  hat.  His  hair 
was  tied  in  a  short  pigtail  which  danced  wickedly  when  he 
turned  his  head. 

"Ha'  done!"  said  Puck,  laughing.  "Be  one  thing  or 
t'other,  Pharaoh.  French  or  English  or  German  —  no  great 
odds  which." 

"Oh,  but  it  is,  though,"  said  Una  quickly.  "We  haven't 
begun  German  yet,  and  —  and  we're  going  back  to  our 
French  next  week." 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  93 

"Aren't  you  English?"  said  Dan.  "We  heard  you  singing 
just  now." 

"Aha!  That  was  the  Sussex  side  o'  me.  Dad  he  married 
a  French  girl  out  o'  Boulogne,  and  French  she  stayed  till 
her  dyin'  day.  She  was  an  Aurette,  of  course.  We  Lees 
mostly  marry  Aurettes.  Haven't  you  ever  come  across  the 

saying: 

"  '  Aurettes  and  Lees, 

Like  as  two  peas. 
What  they  can't  smuggle, 

They'll  run  over  seas?'  " 

"Then,  are  you  a  smuggler?"  Una  cried;  and,  "Have  you 
smuggled  much?"  said  Dan. 

Mr.  Lee  nodded  solemnly. 

"Mind  you,"  said  he,  "I  don't  uphold  smuggling  for  the 
generality  o'  mankind  —  mostly  they  can't  make  a  do  of  it  — 
but  I  was  brought  up  to  the  trade,  d'ye  see,  in  a  lawful  line 
o'  descent  on"  —he  waved  across  the  Channel  —  "on  both 
sides  the  water.  'Twas  all  in  the  families,  same  as  fiddling. 
The  Aurettes  used  mostly  to  run  the  stuff  across  the  Bou- 
logne, and  we  Lees  landed  it  here  and  ran  it  up  to  London 
town,  by  the  safest  road." 

"Then  where  did  you  live?"  said  Una. 

"You  mustn't  ever  live  too  close  to  your  business  in  our 
trade.  We  kept  our  little  fishing  smack  at  Shoreham,  but 
otherwise  we  Lees  was  all  honest  cottager  folk  —  at  Warming- 
hurst  under  Washington  —  Bramber  way  —  on  the  old  Penn 
estate." 

"Ah!"  said  Puck,  squatted  by  the  windlass.  "I  remember 
a  piece  about  the  Lees  at  Warminghurst,  I  do: 

'  There  was  never  a  Lee  to  Warminghurst, 
That  wasn't  a  gipsy  last  and  first.' 

I  reckon  that's  truth,  Pharaoh." 


94       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Pharaoh  laughed.  "Admettin'  that's  true,"  he  said,  "my 
gipsy  blood  must  be  wore  pretty  thin,  for  I've  made  and 
kept  a  worldly  fortune." 

"By  smuggling?"  Dan  asked. 

"No,  in  the  tobacco  trade." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  gave  up  smuggling  just  to 
go  and  be  a  tobacconist?"  Dan  looked  so  disappointed  they 
all  had  to  laugh. 

"I'm  sorry;  but  there's  all  sorts  of  tobacconists,"  Pharaoh 
replied.  "How  far  out,  now,  would  you  call  that  smack 
with  the  patch  on  her  foresail?"  He  pointed  to  the  fishing- 
boats. 

"A  scant  mile,"  said  Puck  after  a  quick  look. 

"Just  about.  It's  seven  fathom  under  her  —  clean  sand. 
That  was  where  Uncle  Aurette  used  to  sink  his  brandy  kegs 
from  Boulogne,  and  we  fished  'em  up  and  rowed  'em  into 
The  Gap  here  for  the  ponies  to  run  inland.  One  thickish 
night  in  January  of  '93,  Dad  and  Uncle  Lot  and  me  came 
over  from  Shoreham  in  the  smack,  and  we  found  Uncle 
Aurette  and  the  L'Estranges,  my  cousins,  waiting  for  us  in 
their  lugger  with  New  Year's  presents  from  mother's  folk 
in  Boulogne.  I  remember  Aunt  Cecile  she'd"  sent  me  a  fine 
new  red  knitted  cap  which  I  put  on  then  and  there,  for  the 
French  was  having  their  Revolution  in  those  days,  and  red 
caps  was  all  the  fashion.  Uncle  Aurette  tells  us  that  they 
had  cut  off  their  King  Louis's  head,  and,  moreover,  the-  Brest 
forts  had  fired  on  an  English  man-o'-war.  The  news  wasn't 
a  week  old. 

"'That  means  war  again,  when  we  was  only  just  getting 
used  to  the  peace/  says  Dad.  'Why  can't  King  George's 
men  and  King  Louis's  men  don  their  uniforms  and  fight  it 
out  over  our  heads? ' 

"'Me  too,  I  wish  that,'  says  Uncle  Aurette.     'But  they'll 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  95 

be  pressing  better  men  than  themselves  to  fight  for  'em. 
The  press-gangs  are  out  already  on  our  side:  you  look  out 
for  yours.' 

"'I'll  have  to  bide  ashore  and  grow  cabbages  for  a  while, 
after  I've  run  this  cargo;  but  I  do  wish'  —  Dad  says,  going 
over  the  lugger's  side  with  our  New  Year  presents  under  his 
arm  and  young  L'Estrange  holding  the  lantern  —  'I  just  do 
wish  that  those  folk  which  make  war  so  easy  had  to  run 
one  cargo  a  month  all  this  winter.  It  'ud  show  'em  what 
honest  work  means.' 

"'Well,  I've  warned  ye,'  says  Uncle  Aurette.  'I'll  be  slip- 
ping off  now  before  your  Revenue  cutter  comes.  Give  my 
love  to  sister  and  take  care  o'  the  kegs.  It's  trucking  to 
southward.' 

"I  remember  him  waving  to  us  and  young  Stephen 
L'Estrange  blowing  out  the  lantern.  By  the  time  we'd 
fished  up  the  kegs,  the  fog  came  down  so  thick  Dad  judged 
it  risky  for  me  to  row  'em  ashore,  even  though  we  could 
hear  the  ponies  stamping  on  the  beach.  So  he  and  Uncle 
Lot  took  the  dinghy  and  left  me  in  the  smack  playing  on  my 
fiddle  to  guide  'em  back. 

"Presently  I  heard  guns.  Two  of  'em  sounded  mighty 
like  Uncle  Aurette's  three-pounders.  He  didn't  go  naked 
about  the  seas  after  dark.  Then  come  more,  which  I  reckoned 
was  Captain  Giddens  in  the  Revenue  cutter.  He  was  open- 
handed  with  his  compliments,  but  he  would  lay  his  guns 
himself.  I  stopped  fiddling  to  listen,  and  I  heard  a  whole 
skyful  o'  French  up  in  the  fog  —  and  a  high  bow  come  down 
on  top  o'  the  smack.  I  hadn't  time  to  call  or  think.  I 
remember  the  smack  heeling  over,  and  me  standing  on  the 
gunwale  pushing  against  the  ship's  side  as  if  I  hoped  to  bear 
her  off.  Then  the  square  of  an  open  port,  with  a  lantern 
in  it,  slid  by  in  front  of  my  nose.  I  kicked  back  on  our 


96       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

gunwale  as  it  went  under  and  slipped  through  that  port 
into  the  French  ship  —  me  and  my  fiddle." 

" Gracious ! "  said  Una.     "What  an  adventure ! " 

"Didn't  anybody  see  you  come  in?"  said  Dan. 

"There  wasn't  any  one  there.  I'd  made  use  of  an  orlop- 
deck  port  —  that's  the  next  deck  below  the  gun-deck,  which 
by  rights  it  shouldn't  have  been  open  at  all.  The  crew  was 
standing  by  their  guns  up  above.  I  rolled  on  to  a  pile  of 
dunnage  in  the  dark  and  I  went  to  sleep.  When  I  woke, 
men  was  talking  all  round  me,  telling  each  other  their  names 
and  sorrows  just  like  Dad  told  me  pressed  men  used  to  talk 
in  the  last  war.  Pretty  soon  I  made  out  they'd  all  been  hove 
aboard  together  by  the  press-gangs,  and  left  to  sort  'emselves. 
The  ship  she  was  the  Embuscade,  a  thirty-six  gun  Republi- 
can frigate,  Captain  Jean  Baptiste  Bompard,  two  days  out 
of  Le  Havre,  going  to  the  United  States  with  a  Republi- 
can French  Ambassador  of  the  name  of  Genet.  They  had 
been  up  all  night  clearing  for  action  on  account  of  hear- 
ing guns  in  the  fog.  Uncle  Aurette  and  Captain  Giddens 
must  have  been  passing  the  time  o'  day  with  each  other 
off  Newhaven,  and  the  frigate  had  drifted  past  'em.  She 
never  knew  she'd  run  down  our  smack.  Seeing  so  many 
aboard  was  total  strangers  to  each  other,  I  thought  one 
more  mightn't  be  noticed;  so  I  put  Aunt  Cecile's  red  cap 
on  the  back  of  my  head,  and  my  hands  in  my  pockets 
like  the  rest,  and,  as  we  French  say,  I  circulated  till  I 
found  the  galley. 

"'What!  Here's  one  of  'em  that  isn't  sick!'  says  a  cook. 
'Take  his  breakfast  to  Citizen  Bompard.' 

"I  carried  the  tray  to  the  cabin  but  I  didn't  call  this 
Bompard  'Citizen.'  Oh,  no!  'Mon  Capitaine'  was  my  little 
word,  same  as  Uncle  Aurette  used  to  answer  in  King  Louis' 
Navy.  Bompard,  he  liked  it;  he  took  me  on  for  cabin  servant, 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  97 

and  after  that  no  one  asked  questions;  and  thus  I  got  good 
victuals  and  light  work  all  the  way  across  to  America.  He 
talked  a  heap  of  politics,  and  so  did  his  officers;  and  when 
this  Ambassador  Genet  got  rid  of  his  land  stomach  and  laid 
down  the  law  after  dinner,  a  rook's  parliament  was  nothing 
compared  to  their  cabin.  I  learned  to  know  most  of  the  men 
which  had  worked  the  French  Revolution,  through  waiting 
at  table  and  hearing  talk  about  'em.  One  of  our  forecas'le 
six-pounders  was  called  Danton  and  t'other  Marat.  I  used 
to  play  the  fiddle  between  'em,  sitting  on  the  capstan.  Day 
in  and  day  out,  Bompard  and  Monsieur  Genet  talked  o' 
what  France  had  done,  and  how  the  United  States  was  going 
to  join  her  to  finish  off  the  English  in  this  war.  Monsieur 
GenSt  said  he'd  just  about  make  the  United  States  fight 
for  France.  He  was  a  rude  common  man.  But  I  liked  listen- 
ing. I  always  helped  drink  any  healths  that  was  proposed  — 
specially  Citizen  Danton's,  who'd  cut  off  King  Louis'  head. 
An  all-Englishman  might  have  been  shocked  —  but  that's 
where  my  French  blood  saved  me. 

"It  didn't  save  me  from  getting  a  dose  of  ship's  fever 
though,  the  week  before  we  put  Monsieur  Genet  ashore  at 
Charleston;  and  what  was  left  of  me  after  bleeding  and  pills 
took  the  dumb  horrors  from  living  'tween  decks.  The 
surgeon,  Karaguen  his  name  was,  kept  me  down  there  to  help 
him  with  his  plasters  —  I  was  too  weak  to  wait  on  Bompard. 
I  don't  remember  much  of  any  account  for  the  next  few 
weeks,  till  I  smelled  laylocks,  and  I  looked  out  of  the  port, 
and  we  was  moored  to  a  wharf-edge  and  there  was  a  town 
o'  fine  gardens  and  red-brick  houses  and  all  the  green  leaves 
in  God's  world  waiting  for  me  outside. 

"'What's  this?'  I  said  to  the  sick-bay  man  —  old  Pierre 
Tiphaigne  he  was.  'Philadelphia,'  says  Pierre.  'You've 
missed  it  all.  We're  sailing  next  week.' 


98       KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"I  just  turned  round  and  cried  for  longing  to  be  amongst 
the  laylocks. 

"'If  that's  your  trouble/  says  old  Pierre,  'you  go  straight 
ashore.  None'll  hinder  you.  They're  all  gone  mad  on  these 
coasts  —  French  and  American  together.  Tisn't  my  notion 
o'  war.'  Pierre  was  an  old  King  Louis  man. 

"My  legs  was  pretty  tottly,  but  I  made  shift  to  go  on  deck, 
which  it  was  like  a  fair.  The  frigate  was  crowded  with  fine 
gentlemen  and  ladies  pouring  in  and  out.  They  sung  and  they 
waved  French  flags,  while  Captain  Bompard  and  his  officers  — 
yes,  and  some  of  the  men  —  speechified  to  all  and  sundry 
about  war  with  England.  They  shouted,  'Down  with  Eng- 
land ! '  -  —  '  Down  with  Washington ! '  —  Hurrah  for  France 
and  the  Republic!'  7  couldn't  make  sense  of  it.  I  wanted 
to  get  out  from  that  crunch  of  swords  and  petticoats  and  sit 
in  a  field.  One  of  the  gentlemen  said  to  me, '  Is  that  a  genuine 
cap  o'  Liberty  you're  wearing?'  'Twas  Aunt  Cecile's  red 
one,  and  pretty  near  wore  out.  'Oh,  yes!'  I  says,  'straight 
from  France.'  'I'll  give  you  a  shilling  for  it,'  he  says,  and 
with  that  money  in  my  hand  and  my  fiddle  under  my  arm 
I  squeezed  past  the  entry-port  and  went  ashore.  It  was  like 
a  dream  —  meadows,  trees,  flowers,  birds,  houses  and  people 
all  different!  I  sat  me  down  in  a  meadow  and  fiddled  a  bit, 
and  then  I  went  in  and  out  the  streets,  looking  and  smelling 
and  touching,  like  a  little  dog  at  a  fair1.  Fine  folk  was  setting 
on  the  white  stone  doorsteps  of  their  houses,  and  a  girl 
threw  me  a  handful  of  laylock  sprays,  and  when  I  said  '  Merci ' 
without  thinking,  she  said  she  loved  the  French.  They 
was  all  the  fashion  in  the  city.  I  saw  more  tricolor  flags  in 
Philadelphia  than  ever  I'd  seen  in  Boulogne,  and  every 
one  was  shouting  for  war  with  England.  A  crowd  o'  folk 
was  cheering  after  our  French  ambassador  —  that  same 
Monsieur  Gene't  which  we'd  left  at  Charleston.  He  was 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  99 

a-horseback  behaving  as  if  the  place  belonged  to  him  — 
and  commanding  all  and  sundry  to  fight  the  British.  But  I'd 
heard  that  often.  I  got  into  a  long  straight  street  as  wide 
as  the  Broyle,  where  gentlemen  was  racing  horses.  I'm  fond 
o'  horses.  Nobody  hindered  'em,  and  a  man  told  me  it  was 
called  Race  Street  o'  purpose  for  that.  Then  I  followed 
some  black  niggers,  which  I'd  never  seen  close  before;  but 
I  left  them  to  run  after  a  great,  proud,  copper-faced  man 
with  feathers  in  his  hair  and  a  red  blanket  trailing  behind 
him.  A  man  told  me  he  was  a  real  Red  Indian  called  Red 
Jacket,  and  I  followed  him  into  an  alley-way  off  Race  Street 
by  Second  Street,  where  there  was  a  fiddle  playing.  I'm 
fond  o'  fiddling.  The  Indian  stopped  at  a  baker's  shop  — 
Conrad  Gerhard's  it  was  —  and  bought  some  sugary  cakes. 
Hearing  what  the  price  was  I  was  going  to  have  some  too, 
but  the  Indian  asked  me  in  English  if  I  was  hungry.  'Oh, 
yes!'  I  says.  I  must  have  looked  a  sore  scrattel.  He  opens 
a  door  on  to  a  staircase  and  leads  the  way  up.  We  walked 
into  a  dirty  little  room  full  of  flutes  and  fiddles  and  a  fat 
man  fiddling  by  the  window,  in  a  smell  of  cheese  and  medi- 
cines fit  to  knock  you  down.  I  was  knocked  down  too,  for 
the  fat  man  jumped  up  and  hit  me  a  smack  in  the  face.  I 
fell  against  an  old  spinet  covered  with  pill-boxes,  and  the 
pills  rolled  about  the  floor.  The  Indian  never  moved  an 
eyelid. 

"'Pick  up  the  pills!  Pick  up  the  pills!'  the  fat  man 
screeches. 

"I  started  picking  'em  up  —  hundreds  of  'em  —  meaning 
to  run  out  under  the  Indian's  arm,  but  I  came  on  giddy  all 
over  and  I  sat  down.  The  fat  man  went  back  to  his  fiddling. 

"'Toby!'  says  the  Indian  after  quite  a  while.  'I  brought 
the  boy  to  be  fed,  not  hit.' 

"'What?'  says  Toby.     'I  thought  it  was  Gert  Schwank- 


TOO     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

felder.'  He  put  down  his  fiddle  and  took  a  good  look  at  me. 
'Himmel!'  he  says.  'I  have  hit  the  wrong  boy.  It  is  not 
the  new  boy.  Why  are  you  not  the  new  boy?  Why  are  you 
not  Gert  Schwankfelder? ' 

"'I  don't  know/  I  said.  'The  gentleman  in  the  pink 
blanket  brought  me.' 

"Says  the  Indian,  'He  is  hungry,  Toby.  Christians  always 
feed  the  hungry.  So  I  bring  him.' 

'"You  should  .have  said  that  first,'  said  Toby.  He  pushed 
plates  at  me  and  the  Indian  put  bread  and  pork  on  them, 
and  a  glass  of  Madeira  wine.  I  told  him  I  was  off  the  French 
ship,  which  I  had  joined  on  account  of  my  mother  being 
French.  That  was  true  enough  when  you  think  of  it,  and 
besides  I  saw  that  the  French  was  all  the  fashion  in  Phila- 
delphia. Toby  and  the  Indian  whispered  and  I  went  on  pick- 
ing up  the  pills. 

"'You  like  pills  —  eh?'  says  Toby. 

"'No,'  I  says.  'I've  seen  our  ship's  doctor  roll  too  many 
of  'em.' 

"'Ho!'  he  says  and  he  shoves  two  bottles  at  me.  'What's 
those?' 

"'Calomel,'  I  says.     'And  t'other's  senna.' 

"'Right,'  he  says.  'One  week  have  I  tried  to  teach  Gert 
Schwankfelder  the  difference  between  them,  yet  he  cannot 
tell.  You  like  to  fiddle?'  he  says.  He'd  just  seen  my  kit 
on  the  floor. 

"'Oh,  yes!'  says  I. 

"  'Oho ! '  he  says.    'What  note  is  this?'  drawing  his  bow  acrost. 

"He  meant  it  for  A,  so  I  told  him  it  was. 

'"My  brother,'  he  says  to  the  Indian.  'I  think  this  is 
the  hand  of  Providence!  I  warned  that  Gert  if  he  went  to 
play  upon  the  wharves  any  more  he  would  hear  from  me. 
Now  look  at  this  boy  and  say  what  you  think.' 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  101 

"The  Indian  looked  me  over  whole  minutes  —  there  was  a 
musical  clock  on  the  wall,  and  dolls  came  out  and  hopped  while 
the  hour  struck.  He  looked  me  over  all  the  while  they  did  it. 

"'Good/  he  says  at  last.     'This  boy  is  good.' 

"'Good,  then,'  says  Toby.  'Now  I  shall  play  my  fiddle 
and  you  shall  sing  your  hymn,  brother.  Boy,  go  down 
to  the  bakery  and  tell  them  you  are  young  Gert  Schwank- 
felder  that  was.  The  horses  are  in  Davy  Jones's  locker. 
If  you  ask  any  questions  you  shall  hear  from  me.' 

"I  left  'em  singing  hymns  and  I  went  down  to  old  Conrad 
Gerhard.  He  wasn't  at  all  surprised  when  I  told  him  I  was 
young  Gert  Schwankfelder  that  was.  He  knew  Toby.  His 
wife  she  walked  me  into  the  back  yard  without  a  word,  and 
she  washed  me  and  she  cut  my  hair  to  the  edge  of  a  basin, 
and  she  put  me  to  bed,  and  oh !  how  I  slept  —  how  I  slept 
in  that  little  room  behind  the  oven  looking  on  the  flower 
garden!  I  didn't  know  Toby  went  to  the  Embuscade  that 
night  and  bought  me  off  Doctor  Karaguen  for  twelve  dollars 
and  a  dozen  bottles  of  Seneca  Oil.  Karaguen  wanted  a  new 
lace  to  his  coat,  and  he  reckoned  I  hadn't  long  to  live;  so 
he  put  me  down  as  'discharged  sick.'" 

"I  like  Toby,  "said  Una. 

"Who  was  he?"  said  Puck. 

' '  Apothecary  Tobias  Hirte, ' '  Pharaoh  replied .  ' '  One  Hun- 
dred and  Eighteen,  Second  Street  —  the  famous  Seneca  Oil 
man,  that  lived  half  of  every  year  among  the  Indians.  But 
let  me  tell  my  tale  my  own  way,  same  as  his  brown  mare 
used  to  go  to  Lebanon." 

"Then  why  did  he  keep  her  in  Davy  Jones's  locker?" 
Dan  asked. 

"That  was  his  joke.  He  kept  her  under  David  Jones's 
hat  shop  in  the  'Buck'  tavern  yard,  and  his  Indian  friends 
kept  their  ponies  there  when  they  visited  him.  I  looked 


102     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

after  the  horses,  when  I  wasn't  rolling  pills  on  top  of  the  old 
spinet  while  he  played  his  fiddle  and  Red  Jacket  sang  hymns. 
I  liked  it.  I  had  good  victuals,  light  work,  a  suit  o'  clean 
clothes,  a  plenty  music,  and  quiet,  smiling  German  folk  all 
around  that  let  me  sit  in  their  gardens.  My  first  Sunday 
Toby  took  me  to  his  church  in  Moravian  Alley;  and  that  was 
in  a  garden  too.  The  women  wore  long-eared  caps  and  hand- 
kerchiefs. They  came  in  at  one  door  and  the  men  at  another, 
and  there  was  a  brass  chandelier  you  could  see  your  face 
in  and  a  nigger-boy  to  blow  the  organ-bellows.  I  carried 
Toby's  fiddle  and  he  played  pretty  much  as  he  chose  all  against 
the  organ  and  the  singing.  He  was  the  only  one  they  let 
do  it,  for  they  was  a  simple-minded  folk.  They  used  to 
wash  each  other's  feet  up  in  the  attic  to  keep  'emselves 
humble:  which  Lord  knows  they  didn't  need." 

"How  very  queer,"  said  Una. 

Pharaoh's  eyes  twinkled.  "I've  met  many  and  seen  much," 
he  said.  "But  I  haven't  yet  found  any  better  or  quieter 
or  forbearinger  people  than  the  Brethren  and  Sistern  of  the 
Moravian  Church  in  Philadelphia.  Nor  will  I  ever  forget 
my  first  Sunday  —  the  service  was  in  English  that  week  — 
with  the  smell  of  the  flowers  coming  in  from  Pastor  Meder's 
garden  where  the  big  peach  tree  is,  and  me  looking  at  all  the 
clean  strangeness  and  thinking  of  'tween  decks  on  the  Embus- 
cade  only  six  days  ago.  Being  a  boy,  it  seemed  to  me  it  had 
lasted  forever,  and  was  going  on  forever.  But  I  didn't 
know  Toby  then.  As  soon  as  the  dancing  clock  struck 
midnight  that  Sunday  —  I  was  lying  under  the  spinet  —  I 
heard  Toby's  fiddle.  He'd  just  done  his  supper  which  he 
always  took  late  and  heavy.  'Gert,'  says  he,  'get  the  horses. 
Liberty  and  Independence  for  ever!  The  flowers  appear 
upon  the  earth  and  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come. 
We  are  going  to  my  country  seat  in  Lebanon.' 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  103 

"I  rubbed  my  eyes,  and  fetched  'em  out  of  the  'Buck' 
stable.  Red  Jacket  was  there  saddling  his,  and  when  I'd 
packed  the  saddle-bags  we  three  rode  up  Race  Street  to  the 
Ferry  by  starlight.  So  we  went  traveling.  It's  a  kindly, 
softly  country  there,  back  of  Philadelphia  among  the  German 
towns,  Lancaster  way.  Little  houses  and  bursting  big 
barns,  fat  cattle,  fat  women,  and  all  as  peaceful  as  Heaven 
might  be  if  they  farmed  there.  Toby  sold  medicines  out  of 
his  saddle-bags,  and  gave  the  French  war-news  to  folk  along 
the  roads.  Him  and  his  long-hilted  umberell  was  as  well 
known  as  the  stage  coaches.  He  took  orders  for  that  famous 
Seneca  Oil  which  he  had  the  secret  of  from  Red  Jacket's 
Indians,  and  he  slept  in  friends'  farmhouses,  but  he  would 
shut  all  the  windows:  so  Red  Jacket  and  me  slept  outside. 
There's  nothing  to  hurt  except  snakes  —  and  they  slip  away 
quick  enough  if  you  thrash  in  the  bushes." 

"I'd  have  liked  that!"  said  Dan. 

"I'd  no  fault  to  find  with  those  days.  In  the  cool  o'  the 
morning  the  catbird  sings.  He's  something  to  listen  to. 
And  there's  a  smell  of  wild  grape-vine  growing  in  damp 
hollows  which  you  drop  into,  after  long  rides  in  the  heat, 
which  is  beyond  compare  for  sweetness.  So's  the  puffs  out 
of  the  pine  woods  of  afternoons.  Come  sundown,  the  frogs 
strike  up,  and  later  on  the  fireflies  dance  in  the  corn.  Oh,  me, 
the  fireflies  in  the  corn!  We  were  a  week  or  ten  days  on  the 
road,  tacking  from  one  place  to  another  —  such  as  Lancaster, 
Bethlehem-Ephrata  —  '  thou  Bethlehem-Ephrata'  —  no  odds 
—  I  loved  the  going  about:  and  so  we  jogged  into  dozy  little 
Lebanon  by  the  Blue  Mountains  where  Toby  had  a  cottage 
and  a  garden  of  all  fruits.  He  came  north  every  year  for  this 
wonderful  Seneca  Oil  the  Seneca  Indians  made  for  him. 
They'd  never  sell  to  any  one  else,  and  he  doctored  'em  with 
von  Swieten  pills  which  they  valued  more  than  their  own 


io4     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

oil.  He  could  do  what  he  chose  with  them,  and,  of  course, 
he  tried  to  make  them  Moravians.  The  Senecas  are  a 
seemly,  quiet  people,  and  they'd  had  trouble  enough  from 
white  men  —  Americans  and  English  —  during  the  wars  to 
keep  'em  in  that  walk.  They  lived  on  a  Reservation  by 
themselves,  away  off  on  the  lake.  Toby  took  me  up  there, 
and  they  treated  me  as  if  I  was  their  own  blood  brother. 
Red  Jacket  said  the  mark  of  my  bare  feet  in  the  dust  was 
just  like  an  Indian's  and  my  style  of  walking  was  similar. 
I  know  I  took  to  their  ways  all  over." 

"Maybe  the  gipsy  drop  in  your  blood  helped  you?"  said 
Puck. 

"Sometimes  I  think  it  did,"  Pharaoh  went  on.  "Anyhow 
Red  Jacket  and  Cornplanter,  the  other  Senaca  chief,  they 
let  me  be  adopted  into  the  tribe.  It's  only  a  compliment, 
of  course,  but  Toby  was  angry  when  I  showed  up  with  my 
face  painted.  They  gave  me  a  side-name  which  means 
'Two  Tongues'  because,  d'ye  see,  I  talked  French  and 
English. 

"They  had  their  own  opinions  (7've  heard  'em)  about 
the  French  and  the  English,  and  the  Americans.  They'd 
suffered  from  all  of  'em  during  the  wars,  and  they  only 
wished  to  be  left  alone.  But  they  thought  a  heap  of  the 
President  of  the  United  States.  Cornplanter  had  had  dealings 
with  him  in  some  French  wars  out  West  when  General 
Washington  was  only  a  lad.  His  being  President  afterward 
made  no  odds  to  'em.  They  always  called  him  Big  Hand, 
for  he  was  a  large-fisted  man,  and  he  was  all  of  their  notion 
of  a  white  chief.  Cornplanter  'ud  sweep  his  blanket  round 
him,  and  after  I'd  filled  his  pipe  he'd  begin  —  'In  the  old 
days,  long  ago,  when  braves  were  many  and  blankets  were 
few,  Big  Hand  said-  If  Red  Jacket  agreed  to  the 

say-so  he'd  trickle  a  little  smoke  out  of  the  corners  of  his 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  105 

mouth.  If  he  didn't  he'd  blow  through  his  nostrils.  Then 
Cornplanter  'ud  stop  and  Red  Jacket  'ud  take  on.  Red 
Jacket  was  the  better  talker  of  the  two.  I've  laid  and  listened 
to  'em  for  hours.  Oh!  they  knew  General  Washington 
well.  Cornplanter  used  to  meet  him  at  Epply's  —  the  great 
dancing  place  in  the  city  before  District  Marshal  William 
Nichols  bought  it.  They  told  me  he  was  always  glad  to  see 
'em,  and  he'd  hear  'em  out  to  the  end  if  they  had  anything 
on  their  minds.  They  had  a  good  deal  in  those  days.  I 
came  at  it  by  degrees,  after  I  was  adopted  into  the  tribe. 
The  talk  up  in  Lebanon  and  everywhere  else  that  summer 
was  about  the  French  war  with  England  and  whether  the 
United  States  'ud  join  in  with  France  or  make  a  peace  treaty 
with  England.  Toby  wanted  peace  so  as  he  could  go  about 
the  Reservation  buying  his  oils..  But  most  of  the  white 
men  wished  for  war,  and  they  was  angry  because  the  President 
wouldn't  give  the  sign  for  it.  The  newspaper  said  men  was 
burning  Guy  Fawkes  images  Of  General  Washington  and 
yelling  after  him  in  the  streets  of  Philadelphia.  You'd  have 
been  astonished  what  those  two  fine  old  chiefs  knew  of  the 
ins  and  outs  of  such  matters.  The  little  I've  learned  of 
politics  I  picked  up  from  Cornplanter  and  Red  Jacket  on  the 
Reservation.  Toby  used  to  read  the  Aurora  newspaper. 
He  was  what  they  call  a  'Democrat,'  though  our  Church  is 
against  the  Brethren  concerning  themselves  with  politics." 

"I  hate  politics,  too,"  said  Una,  and  Pharaoh  laughed. 

"I  might  ha'  guessed  it,"  he  said.  "But  here's  something 
that  isn't  politics.  One  hot  evening  late  in  August  Toby 
was  reading  the  newspaper  on  the  stoop  and  Red  Jacket 
was  smoking  under  a  peach  tree  and  I  was  fiddling.  Of 
a  sudden  Toby  drops  his  Aurora. 

"'I  am  an  oldish  man,  too  fond  of  my  own  comforts,'  he 
says.  'I  will  go  to  the  church  which  is  in  Philadelphia. 


io6      KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

My  brother,  lend  me  a  spare  pony.  I  must  be  there  to-morrow 
night.' 

"'Good!'  says  Red  Jacket,  looking  at  the  sun.  'My 
brother  shall  be  there.  I  will  ride  with  him  and  bring  back 
the  ponies.' 

"I  went  to  pack  the  saddle-bags.  Toby  had  cured  me  of 
asking  questions.  He  stopped  my  fiddling,  if  I  did.  Besides, 
Indians  don't  ask  questions  much,  and  I  wanted  to  be  like 
'em. 

"When  the  horses  were  ready  I  jumped  up. 

"'Get  off,'  says  Toby.  'Stay  and  mind  the  cottage  till 
I  come  back.  The  Lord  has  laid  this  on  me.  not  on  vou. 
I  wish  He  hadn't.' 

"He  powders  off  down  the  Lancaster  road,  and  I  sat  on 
the  doorstep  wondering  after  him.  When  I  picked  up  the 
paper  to  wrap  his  fiddle-strings  in  I  spelled  out  a  piece  about 
the  yellow  fever  being  in  Philadelphia  so  dreadful  every  one 
was  running  away.  I  was  scared,  for  I  was  fond  of  Toby. 
We  never  said  much  to  each  other,  but  we  fiddled  together; 
and  music's  as  good  as  talking  to  them  that  understand." 

"Did  Toby  die  of  yellow  fever?"  Una  asked. 

"Not  him!  There's  justice  left  in  the  world  still!  He 
went  down  to  the  city  and  bled  'em  well  again  in  heaps. 
He  sent  back  word  by  Red  Jacket  that,  if  there  was  war, 
or  he  died,  I  was  to  bring  the  oils  along  to  the  city,  but  till 
then  I  was  to  go  on  working  in  the  garden  and  Red  Jacket 
was  to  see  me  do  it.  Down  at  heart,  all  Indians  reckon 
digging  a  squaw's  business,  and  neither  him  nor  Cornplanter, 
when  he  relieved  watch,  was  a  hard  task-master.  We  hired 
a  nigger-boy  to  do  our  work,  and  a  lazy,  grinning  runagate 
he  was.  When  I  found  Toby  didn't  die  the  minute  he  reached 
town,  why,  boylike,  I  took  him  off  my  mind  and  went  with 
my  Indians  again.  Oh,  those  days  up  north  at  Canasedago, 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  107 

running  races  and  gambling  with  the  Senecas,  or  bee-hunting 
in  the  woods,  or  fishing  in  the  lake!"  Pharaoh  sighed  and 
looked  across  the  water.  "But  it's  best,"  he  went  on  sud- 
denly, "after  the  first  frosts.  You  roll  out  o'  your  blanket 
and  find  every  leaf  left  green  over  night,  turned  red  and 
yellow,  not  by  trees  at  a  time,  but  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  miles  of  'em,  like  sunsets  splattered  upside  down.  On 
one  of  such  days  —  the  maples  was  flaming  scarlet  and  gold, 
and  the  sumach  bushes  were  redder  —  Cornplanter  and  Red 
Jacket  came  out  in  full  war-dress,  making  the  very  leaves 
look  silly.  Feathered  war-bonnets,  yellow  doe-skin  leggings, 
fringed  and  tasseled,  red  horse-blankets,  and  their  bridles 
feathered  and  shelled  and  beaded  no  bounds.  I  thought 
it  was  war  against  the  British  till  I  saw  their  faces  weren't 
painted,  and  they  only  carried  wrist-whips.  Then  I  hummed 
'Yankee  Doodle'  at  'em.  They  told  me  they  was  going  to 
visit  Big  Hand  and  find  out  for  sure  whether  he  meant  to  join 
the  French  in  fighting  the  English  or  make  a  peace  treaty 
with  England.  I  reckon  those  two  would  ha'  gone  out  on 
the  warpath  at  a  nod  from  Big  Hand,  but  they  knew  well, 
if  there  was  war  'twixt  England  and  the  United  States,  their 
tribe  'ud  catch  it  from  both  parties  same  as  in  all  the  other 
wars.  They  asked  me  to  come  along  and  hold  the  ponies. 
That  puzzled  me,  because  they  always  put  their  ponies 
up  at  the  'Buck'  or  Epply's  when  they  went  to  see  General 
Washington  in  the  city,  and  horse-holding  is  a  nigger's  job. 
Besides,  I  wasn't  exactly  dressed  for  it." 

"D'you  mean  you  were  dressed  like  an  Indian?"  Dan 
demanded. 

Pharaoh  looked  a  little  abashed.  "This  didn't  happen 
at  Lebanon,"  he  said,  "but  a  bit  farther  north,  on  the  Reser- 
vation; and  at  that  particular  moment  of  time,  so  far  as 
blanket,  hair-band,  moccasins  and  sunburn  went,  there  wasn't 


io8     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

much  odds  'twix  me  and  a  young  Seneca  buck.  You  may 
laugh,"  he  smoothed  down  his  long-skirted  brown  coat. 
"But  I  told  you  I  took  to  their  ways  all  over.  I  said  nothing, 
though  I  was  bursting  to  let  out  the  war-whoop  like  the 
young  men  had  taught  me." 

"No,  and  you  don't  let  out  one  here,  either,"  said  Puck 
before  Dan  could  ask.  "Go  on,  Brother  Square-toes." 

"We  went  on."  Pharaoh's  narrow  dark  eyes  gleamed  and 
danced.  "We  went  on  —  forty,  fifty  miles  a  day,  for  days 
on  end  —  we  three  braves.  And  how  a  great  tall  Indian 
a-horseback  can  carry  his  war-bonnet  at  a  canter  through 
thick  timber  without  brushing  a  feather  beats  me!  My  silly 
head  was  banged  often  enough  by  low  branches,  but  they 
slipped  through  like  running  elks.  We  had  evening  hymn- 
singing  every  night  after  they'd  blown  their  pipe-smoke 
to  the  quarters  of  Heaven.  Where  did  we  go?  I'll  tell  you, 
but  don't  blame  me  if  you're  no  wiser.  We  took  the  old 
war-trail  from  the  end  of  the  Lake  along  the  East  Susquehanna 
through  the  Nantego  country,  right  down  to  Fort  Shamokin 
on  the  Senachse  River.  We  crossed  the  Juniata  by  Fort 
Granville,  got  into  Shippensberg  over  the  hills  by  the  Ochwick 
trail,  and  then  to  Williams  Ferry  (it's  a  bad  one).  From 
Williams  Ferry,  across  the  Shanedore,  over  the  Blue  Moun- 
tains, through  Ashby's  Gap,  and  so  southeast  by  south 
from  there,  till  we  found  the  President  at  the  back  of  his  own 
plantations.  I'd  hate  to  be  trailed  by  Indians  in  earnest. 
They  caught  him  like  a  partridge  on  a  stump.  After  we'd 
left  our  ponies,  we  scouted  forward  through  a  woody  piece 
and,  creeping  slower  and  slower,  at  last  if  my  moccasins 
even  slipped  Red  Jacket  'ud  turn  and  frown.  I  heard 
voices  —  Monsieur  Genet's  for  choice  —  long  before  I  saw 
anything,  and  we  pulled  up  at  the  edge  of  a  clearing  where 
some  niggers  in  gray  and  red  liveries  were  holding  horses, 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  109 

and  half-a-dozen  gentlemen  —  but  one  was  Genet  —  were 
talking  among  felled  timber.  I  fancy  they'd  come  to  see 
Gene't  a  piece  on  his  road,  for  his  portmantle  was  with  him. 
I  hid  in  between  two  logs  as  near  to  the  company  as  I  be 
to  that  old  windlass  there.  I  didn't  need  anybody  to  show 
me  Big  Hand.  He  stood  up,  very  still,  his  legs  a  little  apart, 
listening  to  Genet,  that  French  Ambassador,  which  never  had 
more  manners  than  a  Bosham  tinker.  Genet  was  as  good 
as  ordering  him  to  declare  war  on  England  at  once.  I  had 
heard  that  clack  before  on  the  Embuscade.  He  said  he'd 
stir  up  the  whole  United  States  to  have  war  with  England, 
whether  Big  Hand  liked  it  or  not. 

"Big  Hand  heard  him  out  to  the  last  end.  I  looked  behind 
me  and  my  two  chiefs  had  vanished  like  smoke.  Says  Big 
Hand,  'That  is  very  forcibly  put,  Monsieur  Genet  — 
'Citizen  —  citizen!'  the  fellow  spits  in.  '/,  at  least,  am  a 
Republican!'  'Citizen  Genet,'  he  says,  'you  may  be  sure  it 
will  receive  my  fullest  consideration.'  This  seemed  to  take 
Citizen  Genet  back  a  piece.  He  rode  off  grumbling,  and  never 
gave  his  nigger  a  penny.  No  gentleman ! 

"The  others  all  assembled  round  Big  Hand  then,  and,  in 
their  way,  they  said  pretty  much  what  Genet  had  said. 
They  put  it  to  him,  here  was  France  and  England  at  war, 
in  a  manner  of  speaking,  right  across  the  United  States' 
stomach,  and  paying  no  regards  to  any  one.  The  French 
was  searching  American  ships  on  pretence  they  was  helping 
England,  but  really  for  to  steal  the  goods.  The  English  was 
doing  the  same,  only  t'other  way  round;  and  besides,  search- 
ing, they  was  pressing  American  citizens  into  their  navy  to 
help  them  fight  France,  on  pretence  that  those  Americans 
was  lawful  British  subjects.  His  gentlemen  put  this  very 
clear  to  Big  Hand.  It  didn't  look  to  them,  they  said,  as 
though  the  United  States  trying  to  keep  out  of  the  fight 


no     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

was  any  advantage  to  her,  because  she  only  catched  it  from 
both  French  and  English.  They  said  that  nine  out  of  ten 
good  Americans  was  crazy  to  fight  the  English  then  and  there. 
They  wouldn't  say  whether  that  was  right  or  wrong,  they 
only  wanted  Big  Hand  to  turn  it  over  in  his  mind.  He  did  - 
for  a  while.  I  saw  Red  Jacket  and  Cornplanter  watching 
him  from  the  far  side  of  the  clearing,  and  how  they  had 
slipped  round  there  was  another  mystery.  Then  Big  Hand 
drew  himself  up,  and  he  let  his  gentlemen  have  it." 

"Hit 'em?  "Dan  asked. 

"No,  nor  yet  was  it  what  you  might  call  swearing.  He  - 
he  blasted  'em  with  his  natural  speech.  He  asked  them  half 
a  dozen  times  over  whether  the  United  States  had  enough 
armed  ships  for  any  shape  or  sort  of  war  with  any  one.  He 
asked  'em,  if  they  thought  she  had  those  ships,  to  give  him 
those  ships,  and  they  looked  on  the  ground,  as  if  they  expected 
to  find  'em  there.  He  put  it  to  'em  whether,  setting  ships 
aside,  their  country  —  I  reckon  he  gave  'em  good  reasons  — 
whether  the  United  States  was  ready  or  able  to  face  a  new 
big  war;  she  having  but  so  few  years  back  wound  up  one 
against  England,  and  being  all  holds  full  of  her  own  troubles. 
As  I  said,  the  strong  way  he  laid  it  all  before  'em  blasted 
'em,  and  when  he'd  done  it  was  like  a  still  in  the  woods  after 
a  storm.  A  little  man  —  but  they  all  looked  little  —  pipes 
up  like  a  young  rook  in  a  blowed-down  nest,  'Nevertheless, 
General,  it  seems  you  will  be  compelled  to  fight  England.' 
Quick  Big  Hand  wheels  on  him,  'And  is  there  anything  in 
my  past  which  makes  you  think  I  am  averse  to  fighting 
Great  Britain?' 

"Everybody  laughed  except  him.  'Oh,  General,  you  mis- 
take us  entirely!'  they  says.  'I  trust  so/  he  says.  'But  I 
know  my  duty.  We  must  have  peace  with  England.' 

"'At  any  price?'  says  the  man  with  the  rook's  voice. 


Then  they  made  the  sign  which  no  Indian  makes  outside 
of  the  Medicine  Lodges." 


BROTHER  SQUARE-TOES  in 

'"At  any  price,'  says  he  word  by  word.  'Our  ships  will 
be  searched  —  our  citizens  will  be  pressed,  but  — 

'"Then  what  about  the  Declaration  of  Independence?' 
says  one. 

'"Deal  with  facts,  not  fancies,'  says  Big  Hand.  'The 
United  States  are  in  no  position  to  fight  England.' 

"'But  think  of  public  opinion,'  another  one  starts  up. 
'The  feeling  in  Philadelphia  alone  is  at  fever  heat.' 

"He  held  up  one  of  his  big  hands.     '  Gentlemen,'  he  says  — 
slow  he  spoke,  but  his  voice  carried  far  —  'I  have  to  think 
of  our  country.    Let  me  assure  you  that  the  treaty  with 
Great  Britain  will  be  made  though  every  city  in  the  Union 
burn  me  in  effigy.' 

"'At  any  price?'  the  actor-like  chap  keeps  on  croaking. 

"'The  treaty  must  be  made  on  Great  Britain's  own  terms. 
What  else  can  I  do? ' 

"He  turns  his  back  on  'em  and  they  looked  at  each  other 
and  slinked  off  to  the  horses,  leaving  him  alone:  and  then 
I  saw  he  was  an  old  man.  Then  Red  Jacket  and  Cornplanter 
rode  down  the  clearing  from  the  far  end  as  though  they  had 
just  chanced  along.  Back  went  Big  Hand's  shoulders,  up 
went  his  head  and  he  stepped  forward  one  single  pace  with  a 
great  deep  Hough !  so  pleased  he  was.  That  was  a  state-lified 
meeting  to  behold  —  three  big  men,  and  two  of  'em  looking 
like  jeweled  images  among  the  spattle  of  gay-colored  leaves.  I 
saw  my  chiefs'  war-bonnets  sinking  together,  down  and  down. 
Then  they  made  the  sign  which  no  Indian  makes  outside  of  the 
Medicine  Lodges  —  a  sweep  of  the  right  hand  just  clear  of  the 
dust  and  an  inbend  of  the  left  knee  at  the  same  time,  and 
those  proud  eagle  feathers  almost  touched  his  boot-top." 

"What  did  it  mean?"  said  Dan. 

"Mean!"  Pharaoh  cried.  "Why  it's  what  you  —  what 
we  —  it's  the  Sachems'  way  of  sprinkling  the  sacred  corn-meal 


ii2     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

in  front  of  —  Oh !  it's  a  piece  of  Indian  compliment  really, 
and  it  signifies  that  you  are  a  very  big  chief. 

"Big  Hand  looked  down  on  'em.  First  he  says  quite  softly, 
'My  brothers  know  it  is  not  easy  to  be  a  chief.'  Then  his 
voice  grew.  ' My  children,'  says  he,  'what  is  in  your  minds? ' 

"Says  Cornplanter,  'We  came  to  ask  whether  there  will 
be  war  with  King  George's  men,  but  we  have  heard  what 
our  Father  has  said  to  his  chiefs.  We  will  carry  away  that 
talk  in  our  hearts  to  tell  to  our  people.' 

"'No,'  says  Big  Hand.  'Leave  aU  that  talk  behind  —  it 
was  between  white  men  only  —  but  take  this  message  from 
me  to  your  people  —  "There  will  be  no  war.'" 

"His  gentlemen  were  waiting  so  they  didn't  delay  him; 
only  Cornplanter  says,  using  his  old  side-name,  'Big  Hand, 
did  you  see  us  among  the  timber  just  now?' 

"'Surely,'  says  he.  'You  taught  me  to  look  behind  trees 
when  we  were  both  young.'  And  with  that  he  cantered  off. 

"Neither  of  my  chiefs  spoke  till  we  were  back  on  our  ponies 
again  and  a  half-hour  along  the  home  trail.  T«hen  Cornplanter 
says  to  Red  Jacket,  'We  will  have  the  corn  dance  this  year. 
There  will  be  no  war.'  And  that  was  all  there  was  to  it." 

Pharaoh  stood  up  as  though  he  had  finished. 

"Yes,"  said  Puck,  rising  too.  "And  what  came  out  of 
it  in  the  long  run?" 

"Let  me  get  at  my  story  my  own  way,"  was  the  answer. 
"Look!  It's  later  than  I  thought.  That  Shoreham  smack's 
thinking  of  her  supper." 

The  children  looked  across  the.  darkening  Channel.  A 
smack  had  hoisted  a  lantern  and  slowly  moved  west  where 
Brighton  pier  lights  ran  out  in  a  twinkling  line.  When  they 
turned  round,  The  Gap  was  empty  behind  them. 

"I  expect  they've  packed  our  trunks  by  now,"  said  Dan. 
''This  time  to-morrow  we'll  be  home." 


PHILADELPHIA 

IF  YOU'RE  off  to  Philadelphia  in  the  morning, 
You  mustn't  take  my  stories  for  a  guide. 
There's  little  left,  indeed,  of  the  city  you  will  read  of, 
And  all  the  folk  I  write  about  have  died. 
Now  few  will  understand  if  you  mention  Talleyrand, 

Or  remember  what  his  cunning  and  his  skill  did; 
And  the  cabmen  at  the  wharf  do  not  know  Count  Zinnen- 

dorf, 
Nor  the  Church  in  Philadelphia  he  builded. 

It  is  gone,  gone,  gone  with  lost  Atlantis 

(Never  say  I  didn't  give  you  warning). 
In  Seventeen  Ninety-three  'twas  there  for  all  to  see, 

But  it's  not  in  Philadelphia  this  morning. 

If  you're  off  to  Philadelphia  in  the  morning, 

You  mustn't  go  by  everything  I've  said. 
Bob  Bicknell's  Southern  Stages  have  been  laid  aside  for  ages, 

But  the  Limited  will  take  you  there  instead. 
Toby  Hirte  can't  be  seen  at  One  Hundred  and  Eighteen, 

North  Second  Street  —  no  matter  when  you  call; 
And  I  fear  you'll  search  in  vain  for  the  wash-house  down  the 
lane 

Where  Pharaoh  played  the  riddle  at  the  ball. 

113 


ii4     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

It  is  gone,  gone,  gone  with  Thebes  the  Golden 

(Never  say  I  didn't  give  you  warning). 
In  Seventeen  Ninety-four  'twas  a  famous  dancing  floor  — 

But  it's  not  in  Philadelphia  this  morning. 

If  you're  off  to  Philadelphia  in  the  morning, 

You  must  telegraph  for  rooms  at  some  hotel. 
You  needn't  try  your  luck  at  Epply's  or  the  "  Buck," 

Though  the  Father  of  his  Country  liked  them  wjll. 
It  is  not  the  slightest  use  to  inquire  for  Adam  Goos, 

Or  to  ask  where  Pastor  Meder  has  removed  —  so 
You  must  treat  as  out  of  date  the  story  I  relate, 

Of  the  Church  in  Philadelphia  he  loved  so. 

He  is  gone,  gone,  gone  with  Martin  Luther 

(Never  say  I  didn't  give  you  warning). 
In  Seventeen  Ninety-five  he  was  (rest  his  soul!)  alive 

But  he's  not  in  Philadelphia  this  morning. 

If  you're  off  to  Philadelphia  this  morning, 

And  wish  to  prove  the  truth  of  what  I  say, 
I  pledge  my  word  you'll  find  the  pleasant  land  behind 

Unaltered  since  Red  Jacket  rode  that  way. 
Still  the  pine- woods  scent  the  noon;  still  the  catbird  sings 
his  tune; 

Still  autumn  sets  the  maple-forest  blazing. 
Still  the  grape-vine  through  the  dusk  flings  her  soul-compelling 
musk; 

Still  the  fireflies  in  the  corn  make  night  amazing! 

They  are  there,  there,  there  with  Earth  immortal, 

(Citizens,  I  give  you  friendly  warning). 
The  things  that  truly  last  when  men  and  times  have  passed, 

They  are  all  in  Pennsylvania  this  morning! 


.007 

A  LOCOMOTIVE  is,  next  to  a  marine  engine,  the  most 
sensitive  thing  man  ever  made,  and  No.  .007,  besides 
being  sensitive,  was  new.  The  red  paint  was  hardly 
dry  on  his  spotless  bumper-bar,  his  headlight  shone  like 
a  fireman's  helmet,  and  his  cab  might  have  been  a  hard- 
wood-finish parlor.  They  had  run  him  into  the  round-house 
after  his  trial  —  he  had  said  good-bye  to  his  best  friend 
in  the  shops,  the  overhead  traveling-crane  —  the  big  world 
was  just  outside;  and  the  other  locos  were  taking  stock  of 
him.  He  looked  at  the  semicircle  of  bold,  unwinking  head- 
lights, heard  the  low  purr  and  mutter  of  the  steam  mounting 
in  the  gauges  —  scornful  hisses  of  contempt  as  a  slack  valve 
lifted  a  little  —  and  would  have  given  a  month's  oil  for  leave 
to  crawl  through  his  own  driving-wheels  into  the  brick  ash-pit 
beneath  him.  .007  was  an  eight-wheeled  "American"  loco, 
slightly  different  from  others  of  his  type,  and  as  he  stood 
he  was  worth  ten  thousand  dollars  on  the  Company's  books. 
But  if  you  had  bought  him  at  his  own  valuation,  after  half 
an  hour's  waiting  in  the  darkish,  echoing  round-house,  you 
would  have  saved  exactly  nine  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  dollars  and  ninety-eight  cents. 

A  heavy  Mogul  freight,  with  a  short  cow-catcher  and  a 
fire-box  that  came  down  within  three  inches  of  the  rail, 
began  the  impolite  game,  speaking  to  a  Pittsburgh  Consoli- 
dation, who  was  visiting. 

115 


n6     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

''Where  did  this  thing  blow  in  from?"  he  asked,  with  a 
dreamy  puff  of  light  steam. 

"It's  all  I  can  do  to  keep  track  of  our  makes,"  was  the 
answer,  ''without  lookin'  after  your  back-numbers.  Guess 
it's  something  Peter  Cooper  left  over  when  he  died." 

.007  quivered;  his  steam  was  getting  up,  but  he  held  his 
tongue.  Even  a  hand-car  knows  what  sort  of  locomotive 
it  was  that  Peter  Cooper  experimented  upon  in  the  far-away 
Thirties.  It  carried  its  coal  and  water  in  two  apple-barrels, 
and  was  not  much  bigger  than  a  bicycle. 

Then  up  and  spoke  a  small,  newish  switching  engine,  with 
a  little  step  in  front  of  his  bumper- timber,  and  his  wheels 
so  close  together  that  he  looked  like  a  broncho  getting  ready 
to  buck. 

"Something's  wrong  with  the  road  when  a  Pennsylvania 
gravel-pusher  tells  us  anything  about  our  stock,  I  think. 
That  kid's  all  right.  Eustis  designed  Mm,  and  Eustis  designed 
me.  Ain't  that  good  enough?" 

.007  could  have  carried  the  switching-loco  round  the  yard 
in  his  tender,  but  he  felt  grateful  for  even  this  little  word 
of  consolation. 

"We  don't  use  hand-cars  on  the  Pennsylvania,"  said  the 
Consolidation.  "That  —  er  —  peanut-stand's  old  enough 
and  ugly  enough  to  speak  for  himself." 

"He  hasn't  bin  spoken  to  yet.  He's  bin  spoke  at.  Hain't 
ye  any  manners  on  the  Pennsylvania?"  saicj  the  switching- 
loco. 

"You  ought  to  be  in  the  yard,  Poney,"  said  the  Mogul, 
severely.  "We're  all  long-haulers  here." 

"That's  what  you  think,"  the  little  fellow  replied.  "You'll 
know  more  'fore  the  night's  out.  I've  bin  down  to  Track 
17,  and  the  freight  there  —  oh,  Christmas!" 

"I've  trouble  enough  in  my  own  division,"  said  a  lean, 


.007  ii; 

light  suburban  loco  with  very  shiny  brake-shoes.  "My 
commuters  wouldn't  rest  till  they  got  a  parlor-car.  They've 
hitched  it  back  of  all,  and  it  hauls  worse'n  a  snow-plough. 
I'll  snap  her  off  some  day  sure,  and  then  they'll  blame  every 
one  except  their  foolselves.  They'll  be  askin'  me  to  haul 
a  vestibuled  next!" 

"They  made  you  in  New  Jersey,  didn't  they?"  said  Poney. 
"Thought  so.  Commuters  and  truck-wagons  ain't  any  sweet 
haulin',  but  I  tell  you  they're  a  heap  better 'n  cuttin'  out 
refrigerator-cars  or  oil-tanks.  Why,  I've  hauled  — 

"Haul!  You?"  said  the  Mogul,  contemptuously.  "It's 
all  you  can  do  to  bunt  a  cold-storage  car  up  the  yard.  Now, 
I"  -  he  paused  a  little  to  let  the  words  sink  in  —  "I  handle 
the  Flying  Freight  — e-leven  cars  worth  just  anything  you 
please  to  mention.  On  the  stroke  of  eleven  I  pull  out;  and 
I'm  timed  for  thirty-five  an  hour.  Costly  —  perishable  - 
fragile  —  immediate  —  that's  me !  Suburban  traffic's  only 
but  one  degree  better  than  switching.  Express  freight's 
what  pays." 

"Well,  I  ain't  given  to  blowing,  as  a  rule,"  began  the 
Pittsburgh  Consolidation. 

"No?  You  was  sent  in  here  because  you  grunted  on  the 
grade,"  Poney  interrupted. 

"Where  I  grunt,  you'd  lie  down,  Poney:  but,  as  I  was 
saying,  I  don't  blow  much.  Notwithstanding  if  you  want 
to  see  freight  that  is  freight  moved  lively,  you  should  see 
me  warbling  through  the  Alleghanies  with  thirty-seven  ore- 
cars  behind  me,  and  my  brakemen  fightin'  tramps  so  's  they 
can't  attend  to  my  tooter.  I  have  to  do  all  the  holdin' 
back  then,  and,  though  I  say  it,  I've  never  had  a  load  get 
away  from  me  yet.  No,  sir.  Haulin'  's  one  thing,  but 
judgment  and  discretion's  another.  You  want  judgment 
in  my  business." 


n8     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"Ah!  But  —  but  are  you  not  paralyzed  by  a  sense  of 
your  overwhelming  responsibilities?"  said  a  curious,  husky 
voice  from  a  corner. 

"Who's  that?"  .007  whispered  to  the  Jersey  commuter. 

"Compound  —  experiment  —  N.  G.  She's  bin  switchin' 
in  the  B.  &  A.  yards  for  six  months,  when  she  wasn't  in  the 
shops.  She's  economical  (7  call  it  mean)  in  her  coal,  but 
she  takes  it  out  in  repairs.  Ahem!  I  presume  you  found 
Boston  somewhat  isolated,  madam,  after  your  New  York 
season? " 

"I  am  never  so  well  occupied  as  when  I  am  alone."  The 
Compound  seemed  to  be  talking  from  halfway  up  her  smoke- 
stack. 

"Sure,"  said  the  irreverent  Poney,  under  his  breath. 
"They  don't  hanker  after  her  any  in  the  yard." 

"But,  with  my  constitution  and  temperament  —  my  work 
lies  in  Boston  —  I  find  your  outrecuidance 

"Outer  which? "  said  the  Mogul  freight.  "Simple  cylinders 
are  good  enough  for  me." 

"Perhaps  I  should  have  said  faroucherie"  hissed  the 
Compound. 

"I  don't  hold  with  any  make  of  papier-mache  wheel," 
the  Mogul  insisted. 

The  Compound  sighed  pityingly,  and  said  no  more. 

"Git  'em  all  shapes  hi  this  world,  don't  ye?"  said  Poney. 
"That's  Mass'chusetts  all  over.  They  half  start,  an'  then 
they  stick  on  a  dead-center,  an*  blame  it  all  on  other  folk's 
ways  o'  treatin'  them.  Talkin'  o'  Boston,  Comanche  told 
me,  last  night,  he  had  a  hot-box  just  beyond  the  Newtons, 
Friday.  That  was  why,  he  says,  the  Accommodation  was 
held  up.  Made  out  no  end  of  a  tale,  Comanche  did." 

"If  I'd  heard  that  in  the  shops,  with  my  boiler  out  for 
repairs,  I'd  know  'twas  one  o'  Comanche's  lies,"  the  New 


.007  i ig 

Jersey  commuter  snapped.  "Hot-box!  Him!  What  hap- 
pened was  they'd  put  an  extra  car  on,  and  he  just  lay  down 
on  the  grade  and  squealed.  They  had  to  send  127  to  help 
him  through.  Made  it  out  a  hot-box,  did  he?  Time  before 
that  he  said  he  was  ditched !  Looked  me  square  in  the  head- 
light and  told  me  that  as  cool  as  —  as  a  water-tank  in  a  cold 
wave.  Hot-box!  You  ask  127  about  Comanche's  hot-box. 
Why,  Comanche  he  was  side-tracked,  and  127  (he  was  just 
about  as  mad  as  they  make  'em  on  account  o'  being  called 
out  at  ten  o'clock  at  night)  took  hold  and  snapped  her  into 
Boston  in  seventeen  minutes.  Hot-box!  Hot  fraud!  That's 
what  Comanche  is." 

Then  .007  put  both  drivers  and  his  pilot  into  it,  as  the 
saying  is,  for  he  asked  what  sort  of  thing  a  hot-box  might  be? 

" Paint  my  bell  sky-blue!"  said  Poney,  the  switcher. 
"Make  me  a  surface-railroad  loco  with  a  hard- wood  skirtin'- 
board  round  my  wheels.  Break  me  up  and  cast  me  into 
five-cent  sidewalk-fakers'  mechanical  toys!  Here's  an  eight- 
wheel  coupled  'American'  don't  know  what  a  hot-box  is! 
Never  heard  of  an  emergency-stop  either,  did  ye?  Don't 
know  what  ye  carry  jack-screws  for?  You're  too  innocent 
to  be  left  alone  with  your  own  tender.  Oh,  you  —  you 
flat-car!" 

There  was  a  roar  of  escaping  steam  before  any  one  could 
answer,  and  .007  nearly  blistered  his  paint  off  with  pure  morti- 
fication. 

"A  hot-box,"  began  the  Compound,  picking  and  choosing 
her  words  as  though  they  were  coal,  "a  hot-box  is  the  penalty 
exacted  from  inexperience  by  haste.  Ahem!" 

"Hot-box!"  said  the  Jersey  Suburban.  "It's  the  price 
you  pay  for  going  on  the  tear.  It's  years  since  I've  had 
one.  It's  a  disease  that  don't  attack  short-haulers,  as  a  rule." 

"We  never  have  hot-boxes  on  the  Pennsylvania,"  said 


120     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

the  Consolidation.  "They  get  'em  in  New  York  —  same 
as  nervous  prostration." 

"Ah,  go  home  on  a  ferry-boat,"  said  the  Mogul.  "You 
think  because  you  use  worse  grades  than  our  road  Vd  allow, 
you're  a  kind  of  Alleghany  angel.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what 
you  .  .  .  Here's  my  folk.  Well,  I  can't  stop.  See  you 
later,  perhaps." 

He  rolled  forward  majestically  to  the  turn-table,  and 
swung  like  a  man-of-war  in  a  tideway,  till  he  picked  up  his 
track.  "But  aS  for  you,  you  pea-green  swivelin'  coffee-pot 
(this  to  .007),  you  go  out  and  learn  something  before  you 
associate  with  those  who've  made  more  mileage  in  a  wsek 
than  you'll  roll  up  in  a  year.  Costly  —  perishable  —  fragile 
—  immediate  —  that's  me!  S'long." 

"Split  my  tubes  if  that's  actin'  polite  to  a  new  member 
o'  the  Brotherhood,"  said  Poney.  "There  wasn't  any  call 
to  trample  on  ye  like  that.  But  manners  was  left  out  when 
Moguls  was  made.  Keep  up  your  fire,  kid,  an'  burn  your 
own  smoke.  'Guess  we'll  all  be  wanted  in  a  minute." 

Men  were  talking  rather  excitedly  in  the  round-house. 
One  man,  in  a  dingy  jersey,  said  that  he  hadn't  any  locomo- 
tives to  waste  on  the  yard.  Another  man,  with  a  piece  of 
crumpled  paper  in  his  hand,  said  that  the  yard-master  said 
that  he  was  to  say  that  if  the  other  man  said  anything,  he 
(the  other  man)  was  to  shut  his  head.  Then  the  other  man 
waved  his  arms,  and  wanted  to  know  if  he  was  expected  to 
keep  locomotives  in  his  hip-pocket.  Then  a  man  in  a  black 
Prince  Albert,  without  a  collar,  came  up  dripping,  for  it  was 
a  hot  August  night,  and  said  that  what  he  said  went;  and 
between  the  three  of  them  the  locomotives  began  to  go 
too  —  first  the  Compound;  then  the  Consolidation;  then  .007. 

Now,  deep  down  hi  his  fire-box,  .0x37  had  cherished  a  hope 
that  as  soon  as  his  trial  was  done,  he  would  be  led  forth 


.007  I2i 

with  songs  and  shoutings,  and  attached  to  a  green-and- 
chocolate  vestibuled  flier,  under  charge  of  a  bold  and  noble 
engineer,  who  would  pat  him  on  his  back,  and  weep  over  him, 
and  call  him  his  Arab  steed.  (The  boys  in  the  shops  where 
he  was  built  used  to  read  wonderful  stories  of  railroad  life, 
and  .007  expected  things  to  happen  as  he  had  heard.)  But 
there  did  not  seem  to  be  many  vestibuled  fliers  in  the  roaring, 
rumbling,  electric-lighted  yards,  and  his  engineer  only  said: 

"Now,  what  sort  of  a  fool-sort  of  an  injector  has  Eustis 
loaded  on  to  this  rig  this  time?"  And  he  put  the  lever  over 
with  an  angry  snap,  crying:  "Am  I  supposed  to  switch 
with  this  thing,  hey?" 

The  collarless  man  mopped  his  head,  and  replied  that, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  yard  and  freight  and  a  few  other 
things,  the  engineer  would  switch  and  keep  on  switching 
till  the  cows  came  home.  .007  pushed  out  gingerly,  his  heart 
in  his  headlight,  so  nervous  that  the  clang  of  his  own  bell 
almost  made  him  jump  the  track.  Lanterns  waved,  or  danced 
up  and  down  before  and  behind  him;  and  on  every  side, 
six  tracks  deep,  sliding  backward  and  forward,  with  clashings 
of  couplers  and  squeals  of  hand-brakes,  were  cars  —  more 
cars  than  .007  had  dreamed  of.  There  were  oil-cars,  and 
hay-cars,  and  stock-cars  full  of  lowing  beasts,  and  ore-cars, 
and  potato-cars  with  stovepipe-ends  sticking  out  in  the 
middle;  cold-storage  and  refrigerator  cars  dripping  iced- water 
on  the  tracks;  ventilated  fruit-  and  milk-cars;  flat-cars  with 
truck- wagons  full  of  market-stuff;  flat-cars  loaded  with  reapers 
and  binders,  all  red  and  green  and  gilt  under  the  sizzling 
electric  lights;  flat-cars  piled  high  with  strong-scented  hides, 
pleasant  hemlock-plank,  or  bundles  of  shingles;  flat-cars 
creaking  to  the  weight  of  thirty-ton  castings,  angle-irons,  and 
rivet-boxes  for  some  new  bridge;  and  hundreds  and  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  box-cars  loaded,  locked,  and  chalked. 


122     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Men  —  hot  and  angry  —  crawled  among  and  between  and 
under  the  thousand  wheels;  men  took  flying  jumps  through 
his  cab,  when  he  halted  for  a  moment;  men  sat  on  his  pilot 
as  he  went  forward,  and  on  his  tender  as  he  returned;  and 
regiments  of  men  ran  along  the  tops  of  the  box-cars  beside 
him,  screwing  down  brakes,  waving  their  arms,  and  crying 
curious  things. 

He  was  pushed  forward  a  foot  at  a  time;  whirled  backward, 
his  rear  drivers  clinking  and  clanking,  a  quarter  of  a  mile; 
jerked  into  a  switch  (yard-switches  are  very  stubby  and 
unaccommodating),  bunted  into  a  Red  D,  or  Merchant's 
Transport  car,  and,  with  no  hint  or  knowledge  of  the  weight 
behind  him,  started  up  anew.  When  his  load  was  fairly 
on  the  move,  three  or  four  cars  would  be  cut  off,  and  .007 
would  bound  forward,  only  to  be  held  hiccupping  on  the 
brake.  Then  he  would  wait  a  few  minutes,  watching  the 
whirled  lanterns,  deafened  with  the  clang  of  the  bells,  giddy 
with  the  vision  of  the  sliding  cars,  his  brake-pump  panting 
forty  to  the  minute,  his  front  coupler  lying  sideways  on  his 
cow-catcher,  like  a  tired  dog's  tongue  in  his  mouth,  and 
the  whole  of  him  covered  with  half-burnt  coal-dust. 

"'Tisn't  so  easy  switching  with  a  straight-backed  tender," 
said  his  little  friend  of  the  round-house,  bustling  by  at  a  trot. 
"But  you're  comin'  on  pretty  fair.  'Ever  seen  a  flyin' 
switch?  No?  Then  watch  me." 

Poney  was  in  charge  of  a  dozen  heavy  flat-cars.  Sud- 
denly he  shot  away  from  them  with  a  sharp  "Whutt!"  A 
switch  opened  in  the  shadows  ahead;  he  turned  up  it  like 
a  rabbit  as  it  snapped  behind  him,  and  the  long  line  of  twelve- 
foot-high  lumber  jolted  on  into  the  arms  of  a  full-sized  road- 
loco,  who  acknowledged  receipt  with  a  dry  howl. 

"My  man's  reckoned  the  smartest  in  the  yard  at  that 
trick,"  he  said,  returning.  "Gives  me  cold  shivers  when 


.007  123 

another  fool  tries  it,  though.  That's  where  my  short  wheel- 
base  comes  in.  Like  as  not  you'd  have  your  tender  scraped 
off  if  you  tried  it." 

.007  had  no  ambitions  that  way,  and  said  so. 

"No?  Of  course  this  ain't  your  regular  business,  but 
say,  don't  you  think  it's  interestin'?  Have  you  seen  the 
yard-master?  Well,  he's  the  greatest  man  on  earth,  an' 
don't  you  forget  it.  When  are  we  through?  Why,  kid, 
it's  always  like  this,  day  an'  night  —  Sundays  an'  week-days. 
See  that  thirty-car  freight  slidin'  in  four,  no,  five  tracks  off? 
She's  all  mixed  freight,  sent  here  to  be  sorted  out  into  straight 
trains.  That's  why  we're  cuttin'  out  the  cars  one  by  one." 
He  gave  a  vigorous  push  to  a  west-bound  car  as  he  spoke, 
and  started  back  with  a  little  snort  of  surprise,  for  the  car 
was  an  old  friend  —  an  M.  T.  K.  box-car. 

"Jack  my  drivers,  but  it's  Homeless  Kate!  Why,  Kate, 
ain't  there  no  gettin'  you  back  to  your  friends?  There's 
forty  chasers  out  for  you  from  your  road,  if  there's  one. 
Who's  holdin'  you  now?" 

"Wish  I  knew,"  whimpered  Homeless  Kate.  "I  belong 
in  Topeka,  but  I've  bin  to  Cedar  Rapids;  I've  bin  to  Winni- 
peg; I've  bin  to  Newport  News;  I've  bin  all  down  the  old 
Atlanta  and  West  Point;  an'  I've  bin  to  Buffalo.  Maybe 
I'll  fetch  up  at  Haverstraw.  I've  only  bin  out  ten  months, 
but  I'm  homesick  —  I'm  just  achin'  homesick." 

"Try  Chicago,  Katie,"  said  the  switching-loco;  and  the 
battered  old  car  lumbered  down  the  track,  jolting:  "I 
want  to  be  in  Kansas  when  the  sunflowers  bloom." 

"Yard's  full  o'  Homeless  Kates  an'  Wanderin'  Willies," 
he  explained  to  .007.  "I  knew  an  old  Fitchburg  flat-car  out 
seventeen  months;  an'  one  of  ours  was  gone  fifteen  'fore 
ever  we  got  track  of  her.  Dunno  quite  how  our  men  fix  it. 
'Swap  around,  I  guess.  Anyway,  I've  done  my  duty.  She's 


124      KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

on  her  way  to  Kansas,  via  Chicago;  but  I'll  lay  my  next 
boilerful  she'll  be  held  there  to  wait  consignee's  convenience, 
and  sent  back  to  us  with  wheat  in  the  fall." 

Just  then  the  Pittsburgh  Consolidation  passed,  at  the 
head  of  a  dozen  cars. 

"I'm  goin'  home,"  he  said  proudly. 

"Can't  get  all  them  twelve  on  to  the  flat.  Break  'em 
in  half,  Dutchy!"  cried  Poney.  But  it  was  .007  who  was 
backed  down  to  the  last  six  cars,  and  he  nearly  blew  up  with 
surprise  when  he  found  himself  pushing  them  on  to  a  huge 
ferry-boat.  He  had  never  seen  deep  water  before,  and 
shivered  as  the  flat  drew  away  and  left  his  bogies  within  six 
inches  of  the  black,  shiny  tide. 

After  this  he  was  hurried  to  the  freight-house,  where 
he  saw  the  yard-master,  a  smallish,  white-faced  man  in  shirt, 
trousers,  and  slippers,  looking  down  upon  a  sea  of  trucks, 
a  mob  of  bawling  truckmen,  and  squadrons  of  backing, 
turning,  sweating,  spark-striking  horses. 

"That's  shippers'  carts  loadin'  on  to  the  receivin'  trucks," 
said  the  small  engine,  reverently.  "But  he  don't  care. 
He  lets  'em  cuss.  He's  the  Czar  —  King  —  Boss!  He  says 
'Please,'  and  then  they  kneel  down  an'  pray.  There's  three 
or  four  strings  o'  to-day's  freight  to  be  pulled  before  he  can 
attend  to  them.  When  he  waves  his  hand  that  way,  things 
happen." 

A  string  of  loaded  cars  slid  out  down  the  track,  and  a 
string  of  empties  took  their  place.  Bales,  crates,  boxes, 
jars,  carboys,  frails,  cases,  and  packages  flew  into  them 
from  the  freight-house  as  though  the  cars  had  been  magnets 
and  they  iron  filings. 

"Ki-yah!"  shrieked  little  Poney.     "Ain't  it  great?" 

A  purple-faced  truckman  shouldered  his  way  to  the  yard- 
master,  and  shook  his  fist  under  his  nose.  The  yard-master 


.007  125 

never  looked  up  from  his  bundle  of  freight  receipts.  He 
crooked  his  forefinger  slightly,  and  a  tall  young  man  in  a  red 
shirt,  lounging  carelessly  beside  him,  hit  the  truckman 
under  the  left  ear,  so  that  he  dropped,  quivering  and  clucking, 
on  a  hay-bale. 

"Eleven,  seven,  ninety-seven,  L.  Y.  S.;  fourteen  ought 
ought  three;  nineteen  thirteen;  one  one  four;  seventeen  ought 
twenty-one  M.  B.;  and  the  ten  west-bound.  All  straight 
except  the  two  last.  Cut  'em  off  at  the  junction.  An'  that's 
all  right.  Pull  that  string."  The  yard-master,  with  mild 
blue  eyes,  looked  out  over  the  howling  truckmen  at  the 
waters  in  the  moonlight  beyond,  and  hummed: 

"  All  things  bright  and  beautiful, 
All  creatures  great  and  small, 
All  things  wise  and  wonderful, 
The  Lawd  Gawd  He  made  all!" 

.007  moved  out  the  cars  and  delivered  them  to  the  regular 
road-engine.  He  had  never  felt  quite  so  limp  in  his  life 
before. 

"Curious,  ain't  it?"  said  Poney,  puffing,  on  the  next  track. 
"You  an'  me,  if  we  got  that  man  under  our  bumpers,  we'd 
work  him  into  red  waste  an'  not  know  what  we'd  done; 
but  —  up  there  —  with  the  steam  hummin'  in  his  boiler 
that  awful  quiet  way  .  .  ." 

"/  know,"  said  .007.  "Makes  me  feel  as  if  I'd  dropped  my 
fire  an'  was  getting  cold.  He  is  the  greatest  man  on  earth." 

They  were  at  the  far  north  end  of  the  yard  now,  under  a 
switch-tower,  looking  down  on  the  four-track  way  of  the  main 
traffic.  The  Boston  Compound  was  to  haul  .007 's  string  to 
some  far-away  northern  junction  over  an  indifferent  road- 
bed, and  she  mourned  aloud  for  the  ninety-six  pound  rails 
of  the  B.  &  A. 


126     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"You're  young;  you're  young,"  she  coughed.  "You  don't 
realize  your  responsibilities." 

"Yes,  he  does,"  said  Poney,  sharply;  "but  he  don't  lie 
down  under  'em."  Then,  with  a  side-spurt  of  steam,  exactly 
like  a  tough  spitting:  "There  ain't  more  than  fifteen  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  o'  freight  behind  her  anyway,  and  she 
goes  on  as  if  't  were  a  hundred  thousand  —  same  as  the 
Mogul's.  Excuse  me,  madam,  but  you've  the  track.  .  .  . 
She's  stuck  on  a  dead-center  again  —  bein'  specially  designed 
not  to." 

The  Compound  crawled  across  the  tracks  on  a  long  slant, 
groaning  horribly  at  each  switch,  and  moving  like  a  cow 
in  a  snow-drift.  There  was  a  little  pause  along  the  yard 
after  her  tail-lights  had  disappeared,  switches  locked  crisply, 
and  every  one  seemed  to  be  waiting. 

"Now  I'll  show  you  something  worth,"  said  Poney.  "When 
the  Purple  Emperor  ain't  on  time,  it's  about  time  to  amend 
the  Constitution.  The  first  stroke  of  twelve  is  — 

"Boom!"  went  the  clock  in  the  big  yard- tower,  and  far 
away  .007  heard  a  full,  vibrating  "Yah!  Yah!  Yah!" 
A  headlight  twinkled  on  the  horizon  like  a  star,  grew  an 
overpowering  blaze,  and  whooped  up  the  humming  track 
to  the  roaring  music  of  a  happy  giant's  song: 

With  a  michnai — ghignai — shtingal!     Yah!  Yah!  Yah! 
Ein — zwei — drei — Mutter!    Yah!  Yah!  Yah! 

She  climb  upon  der  shteeple, 

Und  she  frighten'  all  der  people, 
Singin'  michnai — ghignai — shtingal!     Yah!  Yah! 

The  last  defiant  "yah!  yah!"  was  delivered  a  mile  and  a 
half  beyond  the  passenger-depot;  but  .007  had  caught  one 
glimpse  of  the  superb  six-wheel-coupled  racing-locomotive, 
wht>  hauled  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  road  —  the  gilt-edged 


.007  127 

Purple  Emperor,  the  millionaires'  south-bound  express,  laying 
the  miles  over  his  shoulder  as  a  man  peels  a  shaving  from  a 
soft  board.  The  rest  was  a  blur  of  maroon  enamel,  a  bar 
of  white  light  from  the  electrics  in  the  cars,  and  a  flicker  of 
nickel-plated  hand-rail  on  the  rear  platform. 

"OohF'said  .007. 

"Seventy-five  miles  an  hour  these  five  miles.  Baths, 
I've  heard;  barber's  shop;  ticker;  and  a  library  and  the  rest 
to  match.  Yes,  sir;  seventy-five  an  hour!  But  he'll  talk 
to  you  in  the  round-house  just  as  democratic  as  I  would. 
And  I  —  cuss  my  wheel-base !  —  I'd  kick  clean  off  the  track 
at  half  his  gait.  He's  the  Master  of  our  Lodge.  Cleans 
up  at  our  house.  I'll  introdooce  you  some  day.  He's  worth 
knowin'!  There  ain't  many  can  sing  that  song,  either." 

.007  was  too  full  of  emotions  to  answer.  He  did  not 
hear  a  raging  of  telephone  bells  in  the  switch  tower,  nor  the 
man,  as  he  leaned  out  and  called  to  .007 's  engineer:  "Got 
any  steam?" 

"'Nough  to  run  her  a  hundred  mile  out  o'  this,  if  I  could," 
said  the  engineer,  who  belonged  to  the  open  road  and  hated 
switching. 

"Then  get.  The  Flying  Freight's  ditched  forty  mile  out, 
with  fifty  rod  o'  track  ploughed  up.  No;  no  one's  hurt, 
but  both  tracks  are  blocked.  Lucky  the  wreckin'-car  an' 
derrick  are  this  end  of  the  yard.  Crew'll  be  along  in  a  minute. 
Hurry!  You've  the  track." 

"Well,  I  could  jest  kick  my  little  sawed-off  self,"  said 
Poney,  as  .oof  was  backed,  with  a  bang,  on  to  a  grim  and 
grimy  car  like  a  caboose,  but  full  of  tools  —  a  flat-car  and 
a  derrick  behind  it.  "Some  folks  are  one  thing,  and  some  are 
another;  but  you  're  in  luck,  kid.  They  push  a  wrecking-car. 
Now,  don't  get  rattled.  Your  wheel-base  will  keep  you  on 
the  track,  and  there  ain't  any  curves  worth  mentionin'. 


128     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Oh,  say!  Comanche  told  me  there's  one  section  o'  saw-edged 
track  that's  liable  to  jounce  ye  a  little.  Fifteen  an'  a  half 
out,  after  the  grade  at  Jackson's  crossin'.  You'll  know  it 
by  a  farmhouse  an'  a  windmill  an'  five  maples  in  the 
door-yard.  Windmill's  west  o'  the  maples.  An'  there's  an 
eighty-foot  iron  bridge  in  the  middle  o'  that  section  with  no 
guardrails.  See  you  later.  Luck!" 

Before  he  knew  well  what  had  happened,  .007  was  flying 
up  the  track  into  the  dumb,  dark  world.  Then  fears  of  the 
night  beset  him.  He  remembered  all  he  had  ever  heard  of 
landslides,  rain-piled  boulders,  blown  trees,  and  strayed 
cattle,  all  that  the  Boston  Compound  had  ever  said  of 
responsibility,  and  a  great  deal  more  that  came  out  of  his 
own  head.  With  a  very  quavering  voice  he  whistled  for  his 
first  grade-crossing  (an  event  in  the  life  of  a  locomotive), 
and  his  nerves  were  in  no  way  restored  by  the  sight  of  a  frantic 
horse  and  a  white-faced  man  in  a  buggy  less  than  a  yard 
from  his  right  shoulder.  Then  he  was  sure  he  would  jump 
the  track;  felt  his  flanges  mounting  the  rail  at  every  curve; 
knew  that  his  first  grade  would  make  him  lie  down  even  as 
Comanche  had  done  at  the  Newtons.  He  whirled  down 
the  grade  to  Jackson's  crossing,  saw  the  windmill  west  of  the 
maples,  felt  the  badly  laid  rails  spring  under  him,  and  sweated 
big  drops  all  over  his  boiler.  At  each  jarring  bump  he  believed 
an  axle  had  smashed,  and  he  took  the  eighty-foot  bridge 
without  the  guard-rail  like  a  hunted  cat  on  the  top  of  a  fence. 
Then  a  wet  leaf  stuck  against  the  glass  of  his  headlight  and 
threw  a  flying  shadow  on  the  track,  so  that  he  thought  it 
was  some  little  dancing  animal  that  would  feel  soft  if  he  ran 
over  it;  and  anything  soft  underfoot  frightens  a  locomotive 
as  it  does  an  elephant.  But  the  men  behind  seemed  quite 
calm.  The  wrecking  crew  were  climbing  carelessly  from  the 
caboose  to  the  tender  —  even  jesting  with  the  engineer,  for 


"  He  took  the  eighty  foot  bridge  without  the  guard-rail 
like  a  hunted  cat  on  the  top  of  a  fence." 


.007  129 

he  heard  a  shuffling  of  feet  among  the  coal,  and  the  snatch 
of  a  song,  something  like  this: 

"  Oh,  the  Empire  State  must  learn  to  wait, 
And  the  Cannon-ball  go  hang! 

When  the  West-bound's  ditched,  and  the  tool-car's  hitched, 
And  it's  way  for  the  Breakdown  Gang  (Tara-ra!) 
'Way  for  the  Breakdown  Gang!" 

"Say!  Eustis  knew  what  he  was  doin'  when  he  designed 
this  rig.  She's  a  hummer.  New,  too." 

"Snff!   Phew!   Shew  new.   That  ain't  paint.   That's " 

A  burning  pain  shot  through  .007 's  right  rear  driver  —  a 
crippling,  stinging  pain. 

"This,"  said  .007,  as  he  flew,  "is  a  hot-box.  Now  I  know 
what  it  means.  I  shall  go  to  pieces,  I  guess.  My  first 
road-run,  too!" 

"Het  a  bit,  ain't  she?"  the  fireman  ventured  to  suggest 
to  the  engineer. 

"She'll  hold  for  all  we  want  of  her.  We're  'most  there. 
Guess  you  chaps  back  had  better  climb  into  your  car,"  said 
the  engineer,  his  hand  on  the  brake-lever.  "I've  seen  men 
snapped  off  - 

But  the  crew  fled  back  with  laughter.  They  had  no 
wish  to  be  jerked  on  to  the  track.  The  engineer  half  turned 
his  wrist,  and  .007  found  his  drivers  pinned  firm. 

"Now  it's  come!"  said  .007,  as  he  yelled  aloud,  and  slid 
like  a  sleigh.  For  the  moment  he  fancied  that  he  would 
jerk  bodily  from  off  his  underpinning. 

"That  must  be  the  emergency-stop  that  Poney  guyed  me 
about,"  he  gasped,  as  soon  as  he  could  think.  "Hot-box 
emergency -stop.  They  both  hurt;  but  now  I  can  talk  back 
in  the  round-house." 

He  was  halted,  all  hissing  hot,  a  few  feet  in  th:  rear  of 


130    KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER   GRADES 

what  doctors  would  call  a  compound-comminuted  car.  His 
engineer  was  kneeling  down  among  his  drivers,  but  he  did 
not  call  .007  his  "Arab  steed,"  nor  cry  over  him,  as  the 
engineers  did  in  the  newspapers.  He  just  bad- worded  .007, 
and  pulled  yards  of  charred  cotton-waste  from  about  the  axles, 
and  hoped  he  might  some  day  catch  the  idiot  who  had 
packed  it.  Nobody  else  attended  to  him,  for  Evans,  the 
Mogul's  engineer,  a  little  cut  about  the  head,  but  very  angry, 
was  exhibiting,  by  lantern-light,  the  mangled  corpse  of  a 
slim  blue  pig. 

"'T  weren't  even  a  decent-sized  hog,"  he  said.  "T  were 
a  shote." 

" Dangerousest  beasts  they  are,"  said  one  of  the  crew. 
"Get  under  the  pilot  an'  sort  o'  twiddle  ye  off  the  track, 
don't  they?" 

"Don't  they?"  roared  Evans,  who  was  a  red-headed 
Welshman.  "You  talk  as  if  I  was  ditched  by  a  hog  every 
fool-day  o'  the  week.  /  ain't  friends  with  all  the  cussed 
half -f ed  shotes  in  the  State  o' New  York.  No,  indeed!  Yes, 
this  is  him  —  an'  look  what  he's  done!" 

It  was  not  a  bad  night's  work  for  one  stray  piglet.  The 
Flying  Freight  seemed  to  have  flown  in  every  direction,  for 
the  Mogul  had  mounted  the  rails  and  run  diagonally  a  few 
hundred  feet  from  right  to  left,  taking  with  him  such  cars 
as  cared  to  follow.  Some  did  not.  They  broke  their  couplers 
and  lay  down,  while  rear  cars  frolicked  over  them.  In  that 
game,  they  had  ploughed  up  and  removed  and  twisted  a  good 
deal  of  the  left  hand  track.  The  Mogul  himself  had  waddled 
into  a  cornfield,  and  there  he  knelt  —  fantastic  wreaths  of 
green  twisted  round  his  crank-pins;  his  pilot  covered  with 
solid  clods  of  field,  on  which  corn  nodded  drunkenly;  his  fire 
put  out  with  dirt  (Evans  had  done  that  as  soon  as  he  recovered 
his  senses);  and  his  broken  headlight  half  full  of  half-burnt 


. 007  I3i 

moths.  His  tender  had  thrown  coal  all  over  him,  and  he 
looked  like  a  disreputable  buffalo  who  had  tried  to  wallow 
in  a  general  store.  For  there  lay  scattered  over  the  landscape, 
from  the  burst  cars,  typewriters,  sewing-machines,  bicycles 
in  crates,  a  consignment  of  silver-plated  imported  harness, 
French  dresses  and  gloves,  a  dozen  finely  molded  hard-wood 
mantels,  a  fifteen-foot  naphtha-launch,  with  a  solid  brass 
bedstead  crumpled  around  her  bows,  a  case  of  telescopes  and 
microscopes,  two  coffins,  a  case  of  very  best  candies,  some 
gilt-edged  dairy  produce,  butter  and  eggs  in  an  omelette, 
a  broken  box  of  expensive  toys,  and  a  few  hundred  other 
luxuries.  A  camp  of  tramps  hurried  up  from  nowhere,  and 
generously  volunteered  to  help  the  crew.  So  the  brakemen, 
armed  with  coupler-pins,  walked  up  and  down  on  one  side 
and  the  freight-conductor  and  the  fireman  patroled  the  other 
with  their  hands  in  their  hip-pockets.  A  long-bearded  man 
came  out  of  the  house  beyond  the  cornfield,  and  told  Evans 
that  if  the  accident  had  happened  a  little  later  in  the  year, 
all  his  corn  would  have  been  burned,  and  accused  Evans 
of  carelessness.  Then  he  ran  away,  for  Evans  was  at  his 
heels  shrieking:  "'T  was  his  hog  done  it  —  his  hog  done  it! 
Let  me  kill  him!  Let  me  kill  him!"  Then  the  wrecking- 
crew  laughed;  and  the  farmer  put  his  head  out  of  a  window 
and  said  that  Evans  was  no  gentleman. 

But  .007  was  very  sober.  He  had  never  seen  a  wreck 
before,  and  it  frightened  him.  The  crew  still  laughed,  but 
they  worked  at  the  same  time ;  and  .007  forgot  horror  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  way  they  handled  the  Mogul  freight.  They  dug 
round  him  with  spades;  they  put  ties  in  front  of  his  wheels, 
and  jack-screws  under  him;  they  embraced  him  with  the 
derrick-chain  and  tickled  him  with  crowbars;  while  .007  was 
hitched  on  to  wrecked  cars  and  backed  away  till  the  knot 
broke  or  the  cars  rolled  clear  of  the  track.  By  dawn  thirty 


132     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

or  forty  men  were  at  work,  replacing  and  ramming  down  the 
ties,  gauging  the  rails  and  spiking  them.  By  daylight  all 
cars  who  could  move  had  gone  on  in  charge  of  another  loco; 
the  track  was  freed  for  traffic;  and  .007  had  hauled  the  old 
Mogul  over  a  small  pavement  of  ties,  inch  by  inch,  till  his 
flanges  bit  the  rail  once  more,  and  he  settled  down  with  a 
clank.  But  his  spirit  was  broken,  and  his  nerve  was  gone. 

"'T  weren't  even  a  hog,"  he  repeated  dolefully;  "'t  were 
a  shote;  and  you  —  you  of  all  of  'em  —  had  to  help  me  on." 

"But  how  in  the  whole  long  road  did  it  happen?"  asked 
.007,  sizzling  with  curiosity. 

"Happen!  It  didn't  happen!  It  just  come!  I  sailed 
right  on  top  of  him  around  that  last  curve  —  thought  he  was 
a  skunk.  Yes;  he  was  all  as  little  as  that.  He  hadn't  more'n 
squealed  once  'fore  I  felt  my  bogies  lift  (he'd  rolled  right 
under  the  pilot),  and  I  couldn't  catch  the  track  again  to  save 
me.  Swiveled  clean  off,  I  was.  Then  I  felt  him  sling 
himself  along,  all  greasy,  under  my  left  leadin'  driver,  and, 
oh,  Boilers!  that  mounted  the  rail.  I  heard  my  flanges 
zippin'  along  the  ties,  an'  the  next  I  knew  I  was  playin' 
'Sally,  Sally  Waters'  in  the  corn,  my  tender  shuckin'  coal 
through  my  cab,  an'  old  man  Evans  lyin'  still  an'  bleedin' 
in  front  o'  me.  Shook?  There  ain't  a  stay  or  a  bolt  or 
rivet  in  me  that  ain't  sprung  to  glory  somewhere." 

"Umm!"  said  .007.     "What  d'you  reckon  you  weigh?" 

"Without  these  lumps  o'  dirt  I'm  all  of  a  hundred  thousand 
pound." 

"And  the  shote?" 

"Eighty.  Call  him  a  hundred  pound  at  the  outside. 
He's  worth  about  four  'n'  a  half  dollars.  Ain't  it  awful? 
Ain't  it  enough  to  give  you  nervous  prostration?  Ain't  it 
paralyzin'?  Why,  I  come  just  around  that  curve  —  "  and 
the  Mogul  told  the  tale  again,  for  he  was  very  badly  shaken. 


.007  133 

"Well,  it's  all  in  the  day's  run,  I  guess,"  said  .007,  sooth- 
ingly; "an'  —  an'  a  cornfield's  pretty  soft  fallin'." 

"If  it  had  bin  a  sixty-foot  bridge,  an'  I  could  ha'  slid  off 
into  deep  water  an'  blown  up  an'  killed  both  men,  same  as 
others  have  done,  I  wouldn't  ha'  cared;  but  to  be  ditched 
by  a  shote  —  an'  you  to  help  me  out  —  in  a  cornfield  —  an' 
an  old  hayseed  in  his  nightgown  cussin'  me  like  as  if  I  was 
a  sick  truck-horse!  .  .  .  Oh,  it's  awful!  Don't  call  me 
Mogul!  I'm  a  sewin'-machine.  They'll  guy  my  sand-box 
off  in  the  yard." 

And  .007,  his  hot-box  cooled  and  his  experience  vastly 
enlarged,  hauled  the  Mogul  freight  slowly  back  to  the  round- 
house. 

"Hello,  old  man!  Bin  out  all  night,  hain't  ye?"  said  the 
irrepressible  Poney,  who  had  just  come  off  duty.  "Well, 
I  must  say  you  look  it.  Costly  —  perishable  —  fragile  — 
immediate  —  that's  you !  Go  to  the  shops,  take  them  vine- 
leaves  out  o'  your  hair,  an'  git  'em  to  play  the  hose  on 
you." 

"Leave  him  alone,  Poney,"  said  .007,  severely,  as  he  was 
swung  on  the  turn-table,  "or  I'll  - 

"  Didn't  know  the  old  granger  was  any  special  friend  o' 
yours,  kid.  He  wasn't  over-civil  to  you  last  time  I  saw 
him." 

"I  know  it;  but  I've  seen  a  wreck  since  then,  and  it  has 
about  scared  the  paint  off  me.  I'm  not  going  to  guy  any 
one  as  long  as  I  steam  —  not  when  they're  new  to  the  business 
an'  anxious  to  learn.  And  I'm  not  goin'  to  guy  the  old  Mogul 
either,  though  I  did  find  him  wreathed  around  with  roastin'- 
ears.  'T  was  a  little  bit  of  a  shote  —  not  a  hog  —  just  a 
shote,  Poney  —  no  bigger'n  a  lump  of  anthracite  —  I  saw 
it  —  that  made  all  the  mess.  Anybody  can  be  ditched,  I 
guess." 


i34     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"Found  that  out  already,  have  you?  Well,  that's  a  good 
beginnin'."  It  was  the  Purple  Emperor,  with  his  high, 
tight,  plate-glass  cab  and  green  velvet  cushion,  waiting  to 
be  cleaned  for  his  next  day's  fly. 

"Let  me  make  you  two  gen'lemen  acquainted,"  said 
Poney.  "This  is  our  Purple  Emperor,  kid,  whom  you  were 
adrmrin'  and,  I  may  say,  envyin'  last  night.  This  is  a  new 
brother,  worshipful  sir,  with  most  of  his  mileage  ahead  of  him, 
but,  so  far  as  a  serving-brother  can,  I'll  answer  for  him." 

"'Happy  to  meet  you,"  said  the  Purple  Emperor,  with  a 
glance  round  the  crowded  round-house.  "I  guess  there  are 
enough  of  us  here  to  form  a  full  meetin'.  Ahem!  By  virtue 
of  the  authority  vested  in  me  as  Head  of  the  Road,  I  hereby 
declare  and  pronounce  No.  .007  a  full  and  accepted  Brother 
of  the  Amalgamated  Brotherhood  of  Locomotives,  and  as 
such  entitled  to  all  shop,  switch,  track,  tank,  and  round-house 
privileges  throughout  my  jurisdiction,  in  the  Degree  of 
Superior  Flier,  it  bein'  well  known  and  credibly  reported 
to  me  that  our  Brother  has  covered  forty-one  miles  in  thirty- 
nine  minutes  and  a  half  on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  the  afflicted. 
At  a  convenient  time,  I  myself  will  communicate  to  you  the 
Song  and  Signal  of  this  Degree  whereby  you  may  be  recog- 
nized in  the  darkest  night.  Take  your  stall,  newly  entered 
Brother  among  Locomotives!" 

Now,  in  the  darkest  night,  even  as  the  Purple  Emperor 
said,  if  you  will  stand  on  the  bridge  across  the  freight-yard, 
looking  down  upon  the  four- track  way,  at  2:  30  A.  M.,  neither 
before  nor  after,  when  the  White  Moth,  that  takes  the  overflow 
from  the  Purple  Emperor,  tears  south  with  her  seven  vesti- 
buled  cream-white  cars,  you  will  hear,  as  the  yard-clock  makes 
the  half-hour,  a  far-away  sound  like  the  bass  of  a  violoncello, 
and  then,  a  hundred  feet  to  each  word: 


.007  i35 

"With  a  michnai — ghignai — shtingal!     Yah!     Yah!  Yah! 
Ein—zwei—drei— Mutter!     Yah!  Yah!  Yah! 

She  climb  upon  der  shteeple, 

Und  she  frighten  all  der  people, 
Singin'  michnai — ghignai — shtingal!     Yah!  Yah! 

That  is  .007  covering  his  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  miles 
in  two  hundred  and  twenty-one  minutes. 


THE  EXPLORER 

THERE'S  no  sense  in  going  further  —  it's  the  edge  of 
cultivation," 

So  they  said,    and   I   believed    it  —  broke  my  land 
and  sowed  my  crop  — 
Built  my  barns  and  strung  my  fences  in  the  little  border 

station 

Tucked  away  below  the  foothills  where  the  trails  run  out 
and  stop. 

Till  a  voice,  as  bad  as  Conscience,  rang  interminable  changes 
On  one  everlasting  Whisper  day  and  night  repeated  —  so : 
"Something  hidden.  Go  and  find  it.  Go  and  look  behind 

the  Ranges  — 
Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges.    Lost  and  waiting  for 

you.     Go!" 

So  I  went,  worn  out  of  patience;  never  told   my    nearest 

neighbors  — 
Stole  away  with  pack  and  ponies  —  left  'em  drinking  in  the 

town; 
And  the  faith  that  moveth  mountains  didn't  seem  to  help 

my  labors 
As  I  faced  the  sheer  main-ranges,  whipping  up  and  leading 

down. 

136 


THE  EXPLORER  137 

March  by  march  I  puzzled  through  'em,  turning  flanks  and 

dodging  shoulders, 

Hurried  on  in  hope  of  water,  headed  back  for  lack  of  grass; 
Till  I  camped  above  the  tree-line  —  drifted  snow  and  naked 

boulders  — 
Felt  free  air  astir  to  windward  —  knew  I'd  stumbled  on  the 

Pass. 

'Thought  to  name  it  for  the  finder:     but  that  night  the 

Norther  found  me  - 
Froze  and  killed  the  plains-bred  ponies:    so  I  called  the 

camp  Despair 
(It's  the  Railway  Gap  to-day,  though).     Then  my  Whisper 

waked  to  hound  me :  — 
"Something  lost  behind   the  Ranges.     Over  yonder.     Go 

you  there!" 

Then  I  knew,  the  while  I  doubted  —  knew  His  Hand  was 

certain  o'er  me. 
Still  —  it   might   be    self-delusion  —  scores   of   better   men 

had  died  — 
I  could  reach  the  township  living,  but    .     .     .     He  knows 

what  terrors  tore  me     ... 
But  I  didn't    .     .     .    but  I  didn't.    I  went  down  the  other 

side. 

Till  the  snow  ran  out  in  flowers,  and  the  flowers  turned  to 

aloes, 
And  the  aloes  sprung  to  thickets  and  a  brimming  stream 

ran  by; 
But  the  thickets  dwined  to  thorn-scrub,  and  the  water  drained 

to  shallows  — 
And  I  dropped  again  on  desert,  blasted  earth,  and  blasting 

sky.     .     .     . 


138     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

I  remember  lighting  fires;  I  remember  sitting  by  them; 
I  remember  seeing  faces,  hearing  voices  through  the  smoke; 
I  remember  they  were  fancy  —  for  I  threw  a  stone  to  try  'em. 
"Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges,"  was  the  only  word 
they  spoke. 

I  remember  going  crazy.    I  remember  that  I  knew  it 
When  I  heard  myself  hallooing  to  the  funny  folk  I  saw. 
Very  full  of  dreams  that  desert:  but  my  two  legs  took  me 

through  it.     .     .     . 
And  I  used  to  watch  'em  moving  with  the  toes  all  black  and  raw. 

But  at  last   the   country  altered  —  White  man  s   country 

past  disputing  — 

Rolling  grass  and  open  timber,  with  a  hint  of  hills  behind  — 
There  I  found  me  food  and  water,  and  I  lay  a  week  recruiting, 
Got  my  strength  and  lost  my  nightmares.    Then  I  entered 

on  my  find. 

Thence  I  ran  my  first  rough  survey  —  chose  my  trees  and 

blazed  and  ringed  'em  — 
Week  by  week  I  pried  and  sampled  —  week  by  week  my 

findings  grew. 
Saul  he  went  to  look  for  donkeys,  and  by  God  he  found 

a  kingdom ! 
But  by  God,  who  sent  His  Whisper,  I  had  struck  the  worth 

of  two! 

Up  along  the  hostile  mountains,  where  the  hair-poised  snow- 
slide  shivers  — 

Down  and  through  the  big  fat  marshes  that  tfre  virgin 
ore-bed  stains, 

Till  I  heard  the  mile-wide  mutterings  of  unimagined  rivers 

And  beyond  the  nameless  timber  saw  illimitable  plains! 


THE  EXPLORER  139 

'Plotted  sites  of  future  cities,  traced  the  easy  grades  between 
'em; 

Watched  unharnessed  rapids  wasting  fifty  thousand  head 

an  hour; 
Counted   leagues    of   water-frontage    through     the    axe-rip 

woods  that  screen  'em  — 
Saw  the  plant  to  feed  a  people  —  up  and  waiting  for  the 

power! 

Well  I  know  who'll  take  the  credit  —  all  the  clever  chaps 

that  followed  — 
Came,    a   dozen   men    together  —  never   knew   my   desert 

fears; 
Tracked  me  by  the  camps  I'd  quitted,  used  the  water-holes 

I'd  hollowed. 
They'll  go  back  and  do  the  talking.     They'll  be  called  the 

Pioneers ! 

They  will  find  my  sites  of  townships  —  not  the  cities  that 

I  set  there. 

They  will  rediscover  rivers  —  not  my  rivers  heard  at  night. 
By  my  own  old  marks  and  bearings  they  will  show  me  how 

to  get  there, 
By   the  lonely  cairns  I  builded   they  will  guide  my  feet 

aright. 

Have  I  named  one  single  river?    Have  I  claimed  one  single 

acre? 
Have  I  kept  one  single  nugget — (barring  samples)?     No, 

not  I. 
Because   my   price   was   paid    me    ten    times   over   by  my 

Maker. 
But  you  wouldn't  understand  it.     You  go  up  and  occupy. 


1 40     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

Ores  you'll  find  there;  wood  and  cattle;  water- transit  sure 

and  steady 
(That  should  keep  the  railway  rates  down),  coal  and  iron 

at  your  doors. 
God  took  care  to  hide  that  country  till  He  judged  His  people 

ready, 
Then  He  chose  me  for  His  Whisper,  and  I've  found  it,  and 

it's  yours! 

Yes,   your   "Never-never   country"  —  yes,   your   "edge   of 

cultivation" 
And  "no  sense  in  going  further"  —  till  I  crossed  the  range 

to  see. 
God  forgive  me!    No,  I  didn't.     It's  God's  present  to  our 

nation. 
Anybody  might  have   found  it  but  —  His  Whisper  came 

to  Me! 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK 

HAVE  you  ever  seen  an  untouched  land  —  the  face 
of  virgin  Nature?  It  is  rather  a  curious  sight,  because 
the  hills  are  choked  with  timber  that  has  never  known 
an  axe.  and  the  storm  has  rent  a  way  through  this  timber, 
so  that  a  hundred  thousand  trees  lie  matted  together  in 
swathes;  and,  since  each  tree  lies  where  it  falls,  you  may  behold 
trunk  and  branch  returning  to  the  earth  whence  they  sprang  — 
exactly  as  the  body  of  man  returns  —  each  limb  making 
its  own  little  grave,  the  grass  climbing  above  the  bark,  till 
at  last  there  remains  only  the  outline  of  a  tree  upon  the 
rank  undergrowth. 

Then  we  drove  under  a  cliff  of  obsidian,  which  is  black 
glass,  some  two  hundred  feet  high;  and  the  road  at  its  foot 
was  made  of  black  glass  that  crackled.  This  was  no  great 
matter,  because  half  an  hour  before  Tom  had  pulled  up 
in  the  woods  that  we  might  sufficiently  admire  a  mou  tain 
who  stood  all  by  himself,  shaking  with  laughter  or  rage. 

The  glass  cliff  overlooks  a  lake  where  the  beavers  built 
a  dam  about  a  mile  and  a  half  long  in  a  zigzag  line,  as  their 
necessities  prompted. 

We  curved  the  hill  and  entered  a  forest  of  spruce,  the 
path  serpentining  between  the  tree-boles,  the  wheels  running 
silent  on  immemorial  mould.  There  was  nothing  alive  in 
the  forest  save  ourselves.  Only  a  river  was  speaking  angrily 
somewhere  to  the  right.  For  miles  we  drove  till  Tom  bade 

141 


142     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

us  alight  and  look  at  certain  falls.  Wherefore  we  stepped 
out  of  that  forest  and  nearly  fell  down  a  cliff  which  guarded 
a  tumbled  river  and  returned  demanding  fresh  miracles. 
If  the  water  had  run  uphill,  we  should  perhaps  have  taken 
more  notice  of  it;  but  'twas  only  a  waterfall,  and  I  really 
forget  whether  the  water  was  warm  or  cold.  There  is  a  stream 
here  called  Firehole  River.  It  is  fed  by  the  overflow  from 
the  various  geysers  and  basins  —  a  warm  and  deadly  river 
wherein  no  fish  breed.  I  think  we  crossed  it  a  few  dozen 
times  in  the  course  of  a  day. 

Then  the  sun  began  to  sink,  and  there  was  a  taste  of  frost 
about,  and  we  went  swiftly  from  the  forest  into  the  open, 
dashed  across  a  branch  of  the  Firehole  River  and  found 
a  wood  shanty,  even  rougher  than  the  last,  at  which,  after 
a  forty-mile  drive,  we  were  to  dine  and  sleep.  Half  a  mile 
from  this  place  stood,  on  the  banks  of  the  Firehole  River, 
a  "beaver-lodge,"  and  there  were  rumors  of  bears  and  other 
cheerful  monsters  in  the  woods  on  the  hill  at  the  back  of  the 
building. 

In  the  cool,  crisp  quiet  of  the  evening  I  sought  that  river, 
and  found  a  pile  of  newly  gnawed  sticks  and  twigs.  The 
beaver  works  with  the  cold-chisel,  and  a  few  clean  strokes 
suffice  to  level  a  four-inch  bole.  Across  the  water  on  the  far 
bank  glimmered,  with  the  ghastly  white  of  peeled  dead  timber, 
the  beaver-lodge  —  a  mass  of  disheveled  branches.  The 
inhabitants  had  dammed  the  stream  lower  down  and  spread 
it  into  a  nice  little  lake.  The  question  was,  would  they  come 
out  for  their  walk  before  it  got  too  dark  to  see.  They  came  — 
blessings  on  their  blunt  muzzles,  they  came  —  as  shadows 
come,  drifting  down  the  stream,  stirring  neither  foot  nor 
tail.  There  were  three  of  them.  One  went  down  to  investi- 
gate the  state  of  the  dam;  the  other  two  began  to  look  for 
supper.  There  is  only  one  thing  more  startling  than  the 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK  143 

noiseiessness  of  a  tiger  in  the  jungle,  and  that  is  the  noiseless- 
ness  of  a  beaver  in  the  water.  The  straining  ear  could  catch 
no  sound  whatever  till  they  began  to  eat  the  thick  green 
river-scudge  that  they  call  beaver-grass.  I,  bowed  among 
the  logs,  held  my  breath  and  stared  with  all  my  eyes.  They 
were  not  ten  yards  from  me,  and  they  would  have  eaten 
their  dinner  in  peace  so  long  as  I  had  kept  absolutely 
still. 

We  drifted  on  up  that  miraculous  valley.  On  either 
side  of  us  were  hills  from  a  thousand  to  fifteen  hundred  feet 
high  and  wooded  from  heel  to  crest.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
range  forward  were  columns  of  steam  in  the  air,  misshapen 
lumps  of  lime,  most  like  preadamite  monsters,  still  pools 
of  turquoise  blue,  stretches  of  blue  cornflowers,  a  river  that 
coiled  on  itself  twenty  times,  boulders  of  strange  colors, 
and  ridges  of  glaring,  staring  white. 

The  old  lady  from  Chicago  poked  with  her  parasol  at 
the  pools  as  though  they  had  been  alive.  On  one  particu- 
larly innocent-looking  little  puddle  she  turned  her  back 
for  a  moment,  and  there  rose  behind  her  a  twenty-foot  column 
of  water  and  steam.  Then  she  shrieked  and  protested  that 
"she  never  thought  it  would  ha'  done  it,"  and  the  old  man 
chewed  his  tobacco  steadily,  and  mourned  for  steam  power 
wasted.  I  embraced  the  whitened  stump  of  a  middle-sized 
pine  that  had  grown  all  too  close  to  a  hot  pool's  lip,  and  the 
whole  thing  turned  over  under  my  hand  as  a  tree  would  do 
in  a  nightmare.  From  right  and  left  came  the  trumpetings 
of  elephants  at  play.  I  stepped  into  a  pool  of  old  dried 
blood  rimmed  with  the  noddin  cornflowers;  the  blood  changed 
to  ink  even  as  I  trod;  and  ink  and  blood  were  washed  away 
in  a  spurt  of  boiling  sulphurous  water  spat  out  from  the  lee 
of  a  bank  of  flowers.  This  sounds  mad,  doesn't  it? 

We  rounded  a  low  spur  of  hill,  and  came  out  upon  a  field 


i44     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

of  aching  snowy  lime,  rolled  in  sheets,  twisted  into  knots, 
riven  with  rents  and  diamonds  and  stars,  stretching  for 
more  than  half  a  mile  in  every  direction.  In  this  place  of 
despair  lay  most  of  the  big  geysers  who  know  when  there 
is  trouble  in  Krakatoa,  who  tell  the  pines  when  there  is  a 
cyclone  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  and  who  —  are  exhibited 
to  visitors  under  pretty  and  fanciful  names.  The  first  mound 
that  I  encountered  belonged  to  a  goblin  splashing  in  his  tub. 
I  heard  him  kick,  pull  a  shower-bath  on  his  shoulders,  gasp, 
crack  his  joints,  and  rub  himself  down  with  a  towel;  then  he 
let  the  water  out  of  the  bath,  as  a  thoughtful  man  should;  and 
it  all  sank  down  out  of  sight  till  another  goblin  arrived.  Yet 
they  called  this  place  the  Lioness  and  the  Cubs.  It  lies 
not  very  far  from  the  Lion,  which  is  a  sullen,  roaring  beast, 
and  they  say  that  when  it  is  very  active  the  other  geysers 
presently  follow  suit.  After  the  Krakatoa  eruption  all  the 
geysers  went  mad  together,  spouting,  spurting,  and  bellowing 
till  men  feared  that  they  would  rip  up  the  whole  field.  Mys- 
terious sympathies  exist  among  them,  and  when  the  Giantess 
speaks  (of  her  more  anon)  they  all  hold  their  peace. 

I  was  watching  a  solitary  spring,  when,  far  across  the 
fields,  stood  up  a  plume  of  spun  glass,  iridescent  and  superb, 
against  the  sky.  "That,"  said  the  trooper,  "is  Old  Faithful. 
He  goes  off  every  sixty-five  minutes  to  the  minute,  plays 
for  five  minutes,  and  sends  up  a  column  of  water  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  high.  By  the  time  you  have  looked  at  all  the 
other  geysers  he  will  be  ready  to  play." 

So  we  looked  and  we  wondered  at  the  Beehive,  whose 
mouth  is  built  up  exactly  like  a  hive;  at  the  Turban  (which 
is  not  in  the  least  like  a  turban);  and  at  many,  many  other 
geysers,  hot  holes,  and  springs.  Some  of  them  rumbled, 
some  hissed,  some  went  off  spasmodically,  and  others  lay 
still  in  sheets  of  sapphire  and  beryl. 


The  Yellowstone  Valley. 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK  145 

The  Giantess  is  flat-lipped,  having  no  mouth,  she  looks 
like  a  pool,  fifty  feet  long  and  thirty  wide,  and  there  is  no 
ornamentation  about  her.  At  irregular  intervals  she  speaks, 
and  sends  up  a  column  of  water  over  two  hundred  feet  high 
to  begin  with;  then  she  is  angry  for  a  day  and  a  half  —  some- 
times for  two  days.  Owing  to  her  peculiarity  of  going  mad 
in  the  night  not  many  people  have  seen  the  Giantess  at  her 
finest;  but  'the  clamor  of  her  unrest,  men  say,  shakes  the 
wooden  hotel,  and  echoes  like  thunder  among  the  hills.  When 
I  saw  her,  trouble  was  brewing.  The  pool  bubbled  furiously, 
and  at  five-minute  intervals,  sank  a  foot  or  two,  then  rose, 
washed  over  the  rim,  and  huge  steam  bubbles  broke  on  the 
top.  Just  before  an  eruption  the  water  entirely  disappears 
from  view.  Whenever  you  see  the  water  die  down  in  a  geyser- 
mouth,  get  away  as  fast  as  you  can.  I  saw  a  tiny  little  geyser 
suck  in  its  breath  in  this  way,  and  instinct  made  me  retire 
while  it  hooted  after  me. 

Leaving  the  Giantess  to  swear,  and  spit,  and  thresh 
about,  we  went  over  to  Old  Faithful,  who  by  reason  of 
his  faithfulness  has  benches  cl6se  to  him  whence  you  may 
comfortably  watch.  At  the  appointed  hour  we  heard  the 
water  flying  up  and  down  the  mouth  with  the  sob  of 
waves  in  a  cave.  Then  came  the  preliminary  gouts,  then 
a  roar  and  a  rush,  and  that  glittering  column  of  diamonds 
rose,  quivered,  stood  still  for  a  minute.  Then  it  broke, 
and  the  rest  was  a  confused  snarl  of  water  not  thirty  feet 
high. 

Up  to  that  time  nothing  particular  happens  to  the  Yellow- 
stone, its  banks  being  only  rocky,  rather  steep,  and  plentifully 
adorned  with  pines.  At  the  falls  it  comes  round  a  corner, 
green,  solid,  ribbed  with  a  little  foam  and  not  more  than 
thirty  yards  wide.  Then  it  goes  over  still  green  and  rather 
more  solid  than  before.  After  a  minute  or  two  you,  sitting 


146     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

upon  a  rock  directly  above  the  drop,  begin  to  understand 
that  something  has  occurred;  that  the  river  has  jumped  a 
huge  distance  between  solid  cliff  walls  and  what  looks  like 
the  gentle  froth  of  ripples  lapping  the  sides  of  the  gorge 
below  is  really  the  outcome  of  great  waves.  And  the 
river  yells  aloud;  but  the  cliffs  do  not  allow  the  yells  to 
escape. 

That  inspection  began  with  curiosity  and  finished  in  terror, 
for  it  seemed  that  the  whole  world  was  sliding  in  chrysolite 
from  under  my  feet.  I  followed  with  the  others  round 
the  corner  to  arrive  at  the  brink  of  the  canon:  we  had  to 
climb  up  a  nearly  perpendicular  ascent  to  begin  with,  for 
the  ground  rises  more  than  the  river  drops.  Stately  pine 
woods  fringe  either  lip  of  the  gorge,  which  is  —  the  Gorge 
of  the  Yellowstone. 

All  I  can  say  is  that  without  warning  or  preparation  I 
looked  into  a  gulf  seventeen  hundred  feet  deep  with  eagles 
and  fish-hawks  circling  far  below.  And  the  sides  of  that 
gulf  were  one  wild  welter  of  color  —  crimson,  emerald,  cobalt, 
ochre,  amber,  honey  splashed  with  port-wine,  snow-white, 
vermilion,  lemon,  and  silver-gray,  in  wide  washes.  The 
sides  did  not  fall  sheer,  but  were  graven  by  time  and  water 
and  air  into  monstrous  heads  of  kings,  dead  chiefs,  men 
and  women  of  the  old  time.  So  far  below  that  no  sound 
of  its  strife  could  reach  us,  the  Yellowstone  River  ran  —  a 
finger-wide  strip  of  jade-green.  The  sunlight  took  those 
wondrous  walls  and  gave  fresh  hues  to  those  that  nature 
had  already  laid  there.  Once  I  saw  the  dawn  break  over 
a  lake  in  Rajputana  and  the  sun  set  over  the  Oodey  Sagar 
amid  a  circle  of  Holman  Hunt  hills.  This  tune  I  was  watch- 
ing both  performances  going  on  below  me  —  upside  down 
you  understand  —  and  the  colors  were  real !  The  canon 
was  burning  like  Troy  town;  but  it  would  burn  forever, 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK  147 

and,    thank   goodness,    neither   pen   nor   brush   could   ever 
portray  its  splendors  adequately. 

Evening  crept  through  the  pines  that  shadowed  us,  but  the 
full  glory  of  the  day  flamed  in  that  canon  as  we  went  out 
very  cautiously  to  a  jutting  piece  of  rock  —  blood-red  or  pink 
it  was  —  that  overhung  the  deepest  deeps  of  all.  Now  I 
know  what  it  is  to  sit  enthroned  amid  the  clouds  of  sunset. 
Giddiness  took  away  all  sensation  of  touch  or  form;  but  the 
sense  of  blinding  color  remained.  When  I  reached  the  main- 
land again  I  had  sworn  that  I  had  been  floating. 


THE  COASTWISE  LIGHTS 

OUR  brows  are  wreathed  with  spindrift  and  the  weed 
is  on  our  knees; 

Our  loins  are  battered  'neath  us  by  the  swinging, 
smoking  seas. 
From  reef  and  rock  and  skerry  —  over  headland,  ness  and 

voe  — 

The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  watch  the  ships  of  England 
go! 

Through  the  endless  summer  evenings,  on  the  lineless,  level 

floors; 
Through  the  yelling  Channel  tempest  when  the  siren  hoots 

and  roars  — 
By  day  the  dipping  house-flag  and  by  night  the  rocket's 

trail  - 
As  the  sheep  that  graze    behind  us  so  we  know  them  where 

they  hail. 

We  bridge  across  the  dark,  and  bid  the  helmsman  have  a 

care, 
The  flash  that  wheeling  inland  wakes  his  sleeping  wife  to 

prayer; 
From  our  vexed  eyries,  head  to  gale,  we  bind  in  burning 

chains 
The  lover  from  the  sea-rim  drawn  —  his  love  in  English  lanes. 

148 


THE  COASTWISE  LIGHTS  149 

We  greet  the  clippers  wing-and-wing  that  race  the  Southern 

wool; 
We  warn  the  crawling  cargo-tanks  of  Bremen,  Leith  and 

Hull; 

To  each  and  all  our  equal  lamp  at  peril  of  the  sea  — 
The  white  wall-sided  warships  or  the  whalers  of  Dundee ! 

Come  up,   come  in  from  Eastward,   from  the  guardports 

of  the  Morn! 

Beat  up,  beat  in  from  Southerly,  O  gipsies  of  the  Horn! 
Swift  shuttles  of  an  Empire's  loom  that  weave  us   main    to 

main, 
The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  give  you  welcome  back 

again ! 

Go,  get  you  gone  up-Channel  with  the  sea-crust  on  your 

plates; 

Go,  get  you  into  London  with  the  burden  of  your  freights! 
Haste,  for  they  talk  of  Empire  there,  and  say,  if  any  seek, 
The  Lights  of  England  sent  you  and  by  silence  shall  ye 

speak. 


A  TRIP  ACROSS  A  CONTINENT  * 

Henry  N.  Cheyne,  a  spoiled  darling,  "perhaps  fifteen  years  old,"  "an 
American — first,  last,  and  all  the  time,"  had  "staggered  over  the  wet 
decks  to  the  nearest  rail,"  after  trying  to  smoke  a  "  Wheeling  stogie." 
"He  was  fainting  from  seasickness,  and  a  roll  of  the  ship"  tilted  him 
over  the  rail,"  where  a  "  gray  mother-wave  tucked  him  under  one  arm." 
He  was  picked  up  by  the  fishing  schooner  We^re  Here,  and  after  many 
marvelous  experiences  among  the  sailors,  arrived  in  port,  a  happier 
and  wiser  fellow.  His  telegram  to  his  father  brings  the  following 
result. 

CHEYNE  was  flying  to  meet  the  only  son,  so  miracu- 
lously  restored   to   him.    The  bear  was  seeking  his 
cub,  not  the  bulls.    Hard  men  who  had  their  knives 
drawn  to  fight  for  their  financial  lives  put  away  the  weapons 
and  wished  him  God-speed,  while  half  a  dozen  panic-smitten 
tin-pot  roads  perked  up  their  heads  and  spoke  of  the  wonderful 
things  they  would  have  done  had  not  Cheyne  buried  the 
hatchet. 

It  was  a  busy  week-end  among  the  wires;  for,  now  that 
their  anxiety  was  removed,  men  and  cities  hastened  to 
accommodate.  Los  Angeles  called  to  San  Diego  and  Barstow 
that  the  Southern  California  engineers  might  know  and  be 
ready  in  their  lonely  round-houses;  Barstow  passed  the  word 
to  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific;  and  Albuquerque  flung  it  the 
whole  length  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka,  and  Santa  Fe  manage- 

*A  selection  from  "Captains  Courageous,"  copyrighted  by  The  Century 
Company. 

150 


A  TRIP  ACROSS  A  CONTINENT  151 

ment,  even  into  Chicago.  An  engine,  combination-car  with 
crew,  and  the  great  and  gilded  "Constance"  private  car  were 
to  be  "expedited"  over  those  two  thousand  three  hundred 
and  fifty  miles.  The  train  would  take  precedence  of  one 
hundred  and  seventy-seven  others  meeting  and  passing; 
despatchers  and  crews  of  every  one  of  those  said  trains  must 
be  notified.  Sixteen  locomotives;  sixteen  engineers,  and  six- 
teen firemen  would  be  needed  —  each  and  every  one  the 
best  available.  Two  and  one-half  minutes  would  be  allowed 
for  changing  engines,  three  for  watering,  and  two  for  coaling. 
"Warn  the  men,  and  arrange  tanks  and  chutes  accordingly; 
for  Harvey  Cheyne  is  in  a  hurry,  a  hurry  —  hurry,"  sang 
the  wires.  "Forty  miles  an  hour  will  be  expected,  and 
division  superintendents  will  accompany  this  special  over 
their  respective  divisions.  From  San  Diego  to  Sixteenth 
Street,  Chicago,  let  the  magic  carpet  be  laid  down.  Hurry! 
oh,  hurry!" 

"It  will  be  hot,"  said  Cheyne,  as  they  rolled  out  of  San 
Diego  in  the  dawn  of  Sunday.  "We're  going  to  hurry, 
mamma,  just  as  fast  as  ever  we  can;  but  I  really  don't  think 
there's  any  good  of  your  putting  on  your  bonnet  and  gloves 
yet.  You'd  much  better  lie  down  and  take  your  medicine. 
I'd  play  you  a  game  o'  dominoes,  but  it's  Sunday." 

"I'll  be  good.  Oh,  I  will  be  good.  Only  —  taking  off 
my  bonnet  makes  me  feel  as  if  we'd  never  get  there." 

"Try  to  sleep  a  little,  mamma,  and  we'll  be  in  Chicago 
before  you  know." 

"But  it's  Boston,  father.    Tell  them  to  hurry." 

The  six-foot  drivers  were  hammering  their  way  to  San 
Bernardino  and  the  Mohave  wastes,  but  this  was  no  grade 
for  speed.  That  would  come  later.  The  heat  of  the  desert 
followed  the  heat  of  the  hills  as  they  turned  east  to  the 
Needles  and  the  Colorado  River.  The  car  cracked  in  the 


152     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

utter  drought  and  glare,  and  they  put  crushed  ice  to  Mrs. 
Cheyne's  neck,  and  toiled  up  the  long,  long  grades,  past 
Ash  Fork,  toward  Flagstaff,  where  the  forests  and  quarries 
are,  under  the  dry,  remote  skies.  The  needle  of  the  speed- 
indicator  flicked  and  wagged  to  and  fro,  the  cinders  rattled 
on  the  roof,  and  a  whirl  of  dust  sucked  after  the  whirling 
wheels.  The  crew  of  the  combination  sat  on  their  bunks, 
panting  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  and  Cheyne  found  himself 
among  them  shouting  old,  old  stories  of  the  railroad  that 
every  trainman  knows,  above  the  roar  of  the  car.  He  told 
them  about  his  son,  and  how  the  sea  had  given  up  its  dead, 
and  they  nodded  and  spat  and  rejoiced  with  him;  asked 
after  "her,  back  there,"  and  whether  she  could  stand  it  if 
the  engineer  "let  her  out  a  piece,"  and  Cheyne  thought  she 
could.  Accordingly  the  great  fire-horse  was  "let  out"  from 
Flagstaff  to  Winslow,  till  a  division  superintendent  protested. 

But  Mrs.  Cheyne,  in  the  boudoir  stateroom,  where  the 
French  maid,  sallow-white  with  fear,  clung  to  the  silver 
door-handle,  only  moaned  a  little  and  begged  her  husband 
to  bid  them  "hurry."  And  so  they  dropped  the  dry  sands 
and  moon-struck  rocks  of  Arizona  behind  them,  and  grilled 
on  till  the  crash  of  the  couplings  and  the  wheeze  of  the  brake- 
hose  told  them  they  were  at  Coolidge  by  the  Continental 
Divide. 

Three  bold  and  experienced  men  —  cool,  confident,  and 
dry  when  they  began;  white,  quivering,  and  wet  when  they 
finished  their  trick  at  those  terrible  wheels  —  swung  her  over 
the  great  lift  from  Albuquerque  to  Glorietta  and  beyond 
Springer,  up  and  up  to  the  Raton  Tunnel  on  the  State  line, 
whence  they  dropped  rocking  into  La  Junta,  had  sight  of  the 
Arkansaw,  and  tore  down  the  long  slope  to  Dodge  City, 
where  Cheyne  took  comfort  once  again  from  setting  his 
watch  an  hour  ahead. 


A  TRIP  ACROSS  A  CONTINENT  153 

There  was  very  little  talk  in  the  car.  The  secretary  and 
typewriter  sat  together  on  the  stamped  Spanish-leather 
cushions  by  the  plate-glass  observation  window  at  the  rear 
end,  watching  the  surge  and  ripple  of  the  ties  crowded  back 
behind  them,  and,  it  is  believed,  making  notes  of  the  scenery. 
Cheyne  moved  nervously  between  his  own  extravagant 
gorgeousness  and  the  naked  necessity  of  the  combination, 
an  unlit  cigar  in  his  teeth,  till  the  pitying  crews  forgot  that 
he  was  their  tribal  enemy,  and  did  their  best  to  entertain  him. 

At  night  the  bunched  electrics  lit  up  that  distressful  palace 
of  all  the  luxuries,  and  they  fared  sumptuously,  swinging 
on  through  the  emptiness  of  abject  desolation.  Now  they 
heard  the  swish  of  a  water-tank,  and  the  guttural  voice  of 
a  Chinaman,  the  clink-clink  of  hammers  that  tested  the  Krupp 
steel  wheels,  and  the  oath  of  a  tramp  chased  off  the  rear- 
platform;  now  the  solid  crash  of  coal  shot  into  the  tender; 
and  now  a  beating  back  of  noises  as  they  flew  past  a  waiting 
train.  Now  they  looked  out  into  great  abysses,  a  trestle 
purring  beneath  their  tread,  or  up  to  rocks  that  barred  out 
half  the  stars.  Now  scaur  and  ravine  changed  and  rolled  back 
to  jagged  mountains  on  the  horizon's  edge,  and  now  broke 
into  hills  lower  and  lower,  till  at  last  came  the  true  plains. 

At  Dodge  City  an  unknown  hand  threw  in  a  copy  of  a 
Kansas  paper  containing  some  sort  of  an  interview  with 
Harvey,  who  had  evidently  fallen  in  with  an  enterprising 
reporter,  telegraphed  on  from  Boston.  The  joyful  journalese 
revealed  that  it  was  beyond  question  their  boy,  and  it  soothed 
Mrs.  Cheyne  for  a  while.  Her  one  word  "hurry"  was  con- 
veyed by  the  crews  to  the  engineers  at  Nickerson,  Topeka, 
and  Marceline,  where  the  grades  are  easy,  and  they  brushed 
the  Continent  behind  them.  Towns  and  villages  were  close 
together  now,  and  a  man  could  feel  here  that  he  moved 
among  people. 


154 

"I  can't  see  the  dial,  and  my  eyes  ache  so.  What  are  we 
doing?" 

"The  very  best  we  can,  mamma.  There's  no  sense  in 
getting  in  before  the  Limited.  We'd  only  have  to  wait." 

"I  don't  care.  I  want  to  feel  we're  moving.  Sit  down 
and  tell  me  the  miles." 

Cheyne  sat  down  and  read  the  dial  for  her  (there  were 
some  miles  which  stand  for  records  to  this  day),  but  the 
seventy-foot  car  never  changed  its  long  steamer-like  roll, 
moving  through  the  heat  with  the  hum  of  a  giant  bee.  Yet 
the  speed  was  not  enough  for  Mrs.  Cheyne;  and  the  heat, 
the  remorseless  August  heat,  was  making  her  giddy;  the 
clockhands  would  not  move,  and  when,  oh,  when  would 
they  be  in  Chicago? 

It  is  not  true  that,  as  they  changed  engines  at  Fort  Madison, 
Cheyne  passed  over  to  the  Amalgamated  Brotherhood  of 
Locomotive  Engineers  an  endowment  sufficient  to  enable 
them  to  fight  him  and  his  fellows  on  equal  terms  for  evermore. 
He  paid  his  obligations  to  engineers  and  firemen  as  he  believed 
they  deserved,  and  only  his  bank  knows  what  he  gave  the 
crews  who  had  sympathized  with  him.  It  is  on  record  that 
the  last  crew  took  entire  charge  of  switching  operations 
at  Sixteenth  Street,  because  "she"  was  in  a  doze  at  last, 
and  Heaven  was  to  help  any  one  who  bumped  her. 

Now  the  highly  paid  specialist  who  conveys  the  Lake 
Shore  and  Michigan  Southern  Limited  from  Chicago  to 
Elkhart  is  something  of  an  autocrat,  and  he  does  not  approve 
of  being  told  how  to  back  up  to  a  car.  None  the  less  he 
handled  the  "Constance"  as  if  she  might  have  been  a  load  of 
dynamite,  and  when  the  crew  rebuked  him  they  did  it  in 
whispers  and  dumb  show. 

"Pshaw!"  said  the  Atchison,  Topeka,  and  Santa  Fe  men, 
discussing  life  later,  "we  weren't  runnin'  for  a  record.  Harvey 


A  TRIP  ACROSS  A  CONTINENT  155 

Cheyne's  wife,  she  was  sick  back,  an'  we  didn't  want  to  jounce 
her.  Come  to  think  of  it,  our  runnin'  time  from  San  Diego 
to  Chicago  was  57.54.  You  can  tell  that  to  them  Eastern 
way-trains.  When  we're  tryin'  for  a  record,  we'll  let  you 
know." 

To  the  Western  man  (though  this  would  not  please  either 
city)  Chicago  and  Boston  are  cheek  by  jowl,  and  some 
railroads  encourage  the  delusion.  The  Limited  whirled  the 
" Constance"  into  Buffalo  and  the  arms  of  the  New  York 
Central  and  Hudson  River  (illustrious  magnates  with  white 
whiskers  and  gold  charms  on  their  watch-chains  boarded 
her  here  to  talk  a  little  business  to  Cheyne),  who  slid  her 
gracefully  into  Albany,  where  the  Boston  and  Albany  com- 
pleted the  run  from  tide- water  to  tide-water  —  total  time, 
eighty-seven  hours  and  thirty-five  minutes,  or  three  days, 
fifteen  hours  and  one  half.  Harvey  was  waiting  for  them. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  DEAD 

HEAR  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead  —  in  the  North  by 
the  torn  berg-edges  — 

They  that  look  still  to  the  Pole,  asleep  by  their 
hide-stripped  sledges. 
Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  South  —  in  the  sun  by  their  skeleton 

horses, 

Where  the  warrigal  whimpers  and  bays  through  the  dust 
of  the  sere  river-courses. 

Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  East  —  in  the  heat-rotted  jungle 

hollows, 
Where  the  dog-ape  barks  in  the  kloof  —  in  the  brake  of  the 

buffalo-wallows. 
Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  West  —  in  the  Barrens,  the  snow 

that  betrayed  them, 
Where  the  wolverine  tumbles  their  packs  from  the  camp  and 

the  grave-mound  they  made  them;  Hear  now  the  Song 
of  the  Dead! 


We  were  dreamers,  dreaming  greatly,  in  the  man-stifled  town; 
We  yearned  beyond  the  sky-line  where  the  strange  roads  go 

down. 
Came  the  Whisper,  came  the  Vision,  came  the  Power  with 

the  Need, 
Till  the  Soul  that  is  not  man's  soul  was  lent  us  to  lead. 

156 


"  In  the  North  by  the  torn  berg-edges." 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  DEAD        157 

As  the  deer  breaks  —  as  the  steer  breaks  —  from  the  herd 

where  they  graze. 

In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  went  on  our  ways. 
Then  the  wood  failed  —  then  the  food  failed  —  then  the  last 

water  dried  — 

In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  lay  down  and  died. 
On  the  sand-drift  —  on  the  veldt-side  —  in  the  fern-scrub 

we  lay, 

That  our  sons  might  follow  after  by  the  bones  on  the  way. 
Follow  after  —  follow  after!     We  have  watered  the  root, 
And  the  bud  has  come  to  blossom  that  ripens  for  fruit! 
Follow  after  —  we  are  waiting,  by  the  trails  that  we  lost, 
For  the  sounds  of  many  footsteps,  for  the  tread  of  a  host. 
Follow  after  —  follow  after  —  for  the  harvest  is  sown : 
By  the  bones  about  the  wayside  ye  shall  come  to  your  own! 

When  Drake  went  down  to  the  Horn 
And  England  was  crowned  thereby, 

'Twixt  seas  unsailed  and  shores  unhailed 
Our  Lodge  —  our  Lodge  was  born 
(And  England  was  crowned  thereby!} 

Which  never  shall  close  again 

By  day  nor  yet  by  night, 
While  man  shall  take  his  life  to  stake 

At  risk  of  shoal  or  main 

(By  day  nor  yet  by  night!) 

But  standeth  even  so 

As  now  we  witness  here, 
While  men  depart,  of  joyful  heart. 

Adventure  for  to  know 

(As  now  bear  witness  here!) 


158     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

II 

We  have  fed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years 

And  she  calls  us,  still  unfed, 
Though  there's  never  a  wave  of  all  her  waves 

But  marks  our  English  dead: 
We  have  strawed  our  best  to  the  weed's  unrest, 

To  the  shark  and  the  sheering  gull. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  in  full! 

There's  never  a  flood  goes  shoreward  now 

But  lifts  a  keel  we  manned; 
There's  never  an  ebb  goes  seaward  now 

But  drops  our  dead  on  the  sand  — 
But  slinks  our  dead  on  the  sands  forlore, 

From  the  Ducies  to  the  Swin. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  it  in ! 

We  must  feed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years, 

.  For  that  is  our  doom  and  pride, 
As  it  was  when  they  sailed  with  the  Golden  Hind, 

Or  the  wreck  that  struck  last  tide  — 
Or  the  wreck  that  lies  on  the  spouting  reef 

Where  the  ghastly  blue-lights  flare. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  bought  it  fair! 


THE  NIGHT  RIDE  TO  THE  COW'S  MOUTH 

This  is  the  tale  of  a  night  ride  undertaken  by  Nicholas  Tarvin,  an 
American  adventurer  in  Rajputana,  India,  on  the  rumor  that  a  cer- 
tain diamond  necklace  called  the  Naulahka,  was  to  be  found  in  a 
certain  Hindu  temple  in  a  ruined  city.  From  The  Naulahka. 

TARVIN  threw  back  the  loin-cloth  as  he  came  upon 
Fibby  drowsing  in  the  afternoon  sun  behind  the 
rest-house. 

"We're  going  for  a  little  walk  down-town,  Fibby,"  he  said. 

The  Kathiawar  squealed  and  snapped. 

"Yes;  you  always  were  a  loafer,  Fibby." 

Fibby  was  saddled  by  his  nervous  native  attendant,  while 
Tarvin  took  a  blanket  from  his  room  and  rolled  up  into 
it  an  imaginative  assortment  of  provisions.  Fibby  was  to 
find  his  rations  where  Heaven  pleased.  TKen  he  set  out 
as  light-heartedly  as  though  he  were  going  for  a  canter  round 
the  city.  It  was  now  about  three  in  the  afternoon.  All 
Fibby's  boundless  reserves  of  ill  temper  and  stubborn  obsti- 
nacy Tarvin  resolved  should  be  devoted,  by  the  aid  of  his 
spurs,  to  covering  the  fifty-seven  miles  to  Gunnaur  in  the 
next  ten  hours,  if  the  road  were  fair.  If  not,  he  should 
be  allowed  another  two  hours.  The  return  journey  would 
not  require  spurs.  There  was  a  moon  that  night,  and  Tarvin 
knew  enough  of  native  roads  in  Gokral  Seetarun,  and  rough 
trails  elsewhere,  to  be  certain  that  he  would  not  be  confused 
by  cross-tracks. 

159 


160     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

It  being  borne  into  Fibby's  mind  that  he  was  required 
to  advance,  not  in  three  directions  at  once,  but  in  one,  he 
clicked  his  bit  comfortably  in  his  mouth,  dropped  his  head, 
and  began  to  trot  steadily.  Then  Tarvin  pulled  him  up, 
and  addressed  him  tenderly. 

"Fib,  my  boy,  we're  not  out  for  exercise  —  you'll  learn 
that  before  sundown.  Some  galoot  has  been  training  you 
to  waste  your  time  over  the  English  trot.  I'll  be  discussing 
other  points  with  you  in  the  course  of  the  campaign;  but 
we'll  settle  this  now.  We  don't  begin  with  crime.  Drop 
it,  Fibby,  and  behave  like  a  man-horse." 

Tarvin  was  obliged  to  make  further  remarks  on  the  same 
subject  before  Fibby  returned  to  the  easy  native  lope,  which 
is  also  a  common  Western  pace,  tiring  neither  man  nor  beast. 
By  this  he  began  to  understand  that  a  long  journey  was 
demanded  of  him,  and,  lowering  his  tail,  buckled  down  to  it. 

At  first  he  moved  in  a  cloud  of  sandy  dust  with  the  cotton- 
wains  and  the  country-carts  that  were  creaking  out  to  the 
far  distant  railroad  at  Gunnaur.  As  the  sun  began  to  sink, 
his  gaunt  shadow  danced  like  a  goblin  across  low-lying  volcanic 
rock  tufted  with  shrubs,  and  here  and  there  an  aloe. 

The  carters  unyoked  their  cattle  on  the  roadside,  and  pre- 
pared to  eat  their  evening  meal  by  the  light  of  dull-red 
fires.  Fibby  cocked  one  ear  wistfully  toward  the  flames, 
but  held  on  through  the  gathering  shadows,  and  Tarvin 
smelt  the  acrid  juice  of  bruised  camel's-thorn  beneath  his 
horse's  hoofs.  The  moon  rose  in  splendor  behind  him, 
and,  following  his  lurching  shadow,  he  overtook  a  naked 
man  who  bore  over  his  shoulder  a  stick  loaded  with  jingling 
bells,  and  fled  panting  and  perspiring  from  one  who  followed 
him  armed  with  a  naked  sword.  This  was  the  mail-carrier 
and  his  escort  running  to  Gunnaur.  The  jingling  died  away 
on  the  dead  air,  and  Fibby  was  ambling  between  interim- 


NIGHT  RIDE  TO  THE  COW'S  MOUTH       161 

nable  lines  of  thorn-bushes  that  threw  mad  arms  to  the  stars, 
and  cast  shadows  as  solid  as  themselves  across  the  road. 
Some  beast  of  the  night  plunged  through  the  thicket  alongside, 
and  Fibby  snorted  in  panic.  Then  a  porcupine  crossed 
under  his  nose  with  a  rustle  of  quills,  and  left  an  evil  stench 
to  poison  the  stillness  for  a  moment.  A  point  of  light 
gleamed  ahead,  where  a  bullock-cart  had  broken  down, 
and  the  drivers  were  sleeping  peacefully  till  daylight  should 
show  the  injury.  Here  Fibby  stopped,  and  Tarvin,  through 
the  magic  of  a  rupee,  representing  fortune  to  the  rudely 
awakened  sleepers,  procured  food  and  a  little  water  for  him, 
eased  the  girths,  and  made  as  much  of  him  as  he  was  disposed 
to  permit.  On  starting  again,  Fibby  found  his  second  wind, 
and  with  it  there  woke  the  spirit  of  daring  and  adventure 
inherited  from  his  ancestors,  who  were  accustomed  to  take 
their  masters  thirty  leagues  in  a  day  for  the  sacking  of  a 
town,  to  sleep  by  a  lance  driven  into  the  earth  as  a  picket, 
and  to  return  whence  they  had  come  before  the  ashes  of  the 
houses  had  lost  heat.  So  Fibby  lifted  his  tail  valiantly, 
neighed,  and  began  to  move. 

The  road  descended  for  miles,  crossing  the  dry  beds  of 
many  water-courses  and  once  a  broad  river,  where  Fibby 
stopped  for  another  drink,  and  would  have  lain  down  to  roll 
in  a  melon-bed  but  that  his  rider  spurred  him  on  up  the 
slope.  The  country  grew  more  fertile  at  every  mile,  and 
rolled  in  broader  waves.  Under  the  light  of  the  setting 
moon  the  fields  showed  silver-white  with  the  opium-poppy, 
or  dark  with  sugar-cane. 

Poppy  and  sugar  ceased  together,  as  Fibby  topped  a  long, 
slow  ascent,  and  with  distended  nostrils  snuffed  for  the  wind 
of  the  morning.  He  knew  that  the  day  would  bring  him 
rest.  Tarvin  peered  forward  where  the  white  line  of  the 
road  disappeared  in  the  gloom  of  velvety  scrub.  He  com- 


i62     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

manded  a  vast  level  plain  flanked  by  hills  of  soft  outline  - 
a  plain  that  in  the  dim  light  seemed  as  level  as  the  sea. 
Like  the  sea,  too,  it  bore  on  its  breast  a  ship,  like  a  gigantic 
monitor  with  a  sharp  bow,  cutting  her  way  from  north  to 
south;  such  a  ship  as  man  never  yet  has  seen  —  two  miles 
long,  with  three  or  four  hundred  feet  free-board,  lonely, 
silent,  mastless,  without  lights,  a  derelict  of  the  earth. 

"We  are  nearly  there,  Fib,  my  boy,"  said  Tarvin,  drawing 
rein,  and  scanning  the  monstrous  thing  by  the  starlight. 
"We'll  get  as  close  as  we.  can,  and  then  wait  for  the  daylight 
before  going  aboard." 

They  descended  the  slope,  which  was  covered  with  sharp 
stones  and  sleeping  goats.  Then  the  road  turned  sharply 
to  the  left,  and  began  to  run  parallel  to  the  ship.  Tarvin 
urged  Fibby  into  a  more  direct  path,  and  the  good  horse 
blundered  piteously  across  the  scrub-covered  ground,  cut  up 
and  channelled  by  the  rains  into  a  network  of  six-foot  ravines 
and  gulches. 

Here  he  gave  out  with  a  despairing  grunt.  Tarvin  took 
pity  on  him,  and,  fastening  him  to  a  tree,  bade  him  think 
of  his  sins  till  breakfast-time,  and  dropped  from  his  back 
into  a  dry  and  dusty  water-hole.  Ten  steps  farther,  and 
the  scrub  was  all  about  him,  whipping  him  across  the  brows, 
hooking  thorns  into  his  jacket,  and  looping  roots  in  front  of 
his  knees  as  he  pushed  on  up  an  ever-steepening  incline. 


THE  LAST  RHYME  OF  TRUE  THOMAS 

THE  King  has  called  for  priest  and  cup, 
The  King  has  taken  spur  and  blade, 
To  dub  True  Thomas  a  belted  knight, 
And  all  for  the  sake  o'  the  songs  he  made. 

They  have  sought  him  high,  they  have  sought 
him  low, 

They  have  sought  him  over  down  and  lea; 
They  have  found  him  by  the  milk-white  thorn 

That  guards  the  gates  o'  Faerie. 

'Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above, 
Their  eyes  were  held  that  they  might  not  see 

The  kine  that  grazed  between  the  knowes, 
Oh,  they  were  the  Queens  o'  Faerie! 

"Now  cease  your  song,"  the  King  he  said, 
"Oh,  cease  your  song  and  get  you  dight 

To  vow  your  vow  and  watch  your  arms, 
For  I  will  dub  you  a  belted  knight. 

"For  I  will  give  you  a  horse  o'  pride, 
Wi'  blazon  and  spur  and  page  and  squire; 

Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  law, 
And  land  to  hold  at  your  desire." 

163 


164     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

True  Thomas  smiled  above  his  harp, 
And  turned  his  face  to  the  naked  sky, 

Where,  blown  before  the  wastrel  wind, 
The  thistle-down  she  floated  by. 

"I  ha'  vowed  my  vow  in  another  place, 

And  bitter  oath  it  was  on  me, 
I  ha'  watched  my  arms  the  lee-long  night, 

Where  five-score  fighting  men  would  flee. 

"My  lance  is  tipped  o'  the  hammered  flame, 
My  shield  is  beat  o'  the  moonlight  cold; 

And  I  won  my  spurs  in  the  Middle  World, 
A  thousand  fathoms  beneath  the  mould. 

"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  horse  o'  pride, 
And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  sword  so  brown, 

But  spill  the  rings  o'  the  Gentle  Folk 
And  flyte  my  kin  in  the  Fairy  Town? 

"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  blazon  and  belt, 
Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  fee, 

And  what  should  I  do  wi'  page  and  squire 
That  am  a  king  in  my  own  countrie? 

"For  I  send  East  and  I  send  West, 
And  I  send  far  as  my  will  may  flee, 

By  dawn  and  dusk  and  the  drinking  rain, 
And  syne  my  Sendings  return  to  me. 

"They  come  wi'  news  of  the  groanin'  earth, 
They  come  wi'  news  o'  the  roarin'  sea, 

Wi'  word  of  Spirit  and  Ghost  and  Flesh, 
And  man  that's  mazed  among  the  three." 


LAST  RHYME  OF  TRUE  THOMAS  165 

The  King  he  bit  his  nether  lip, 

And  smote  his  hand  upon  his  knee: 
"By  the  faith  o'  my  soul,  True  Thomas,"  he  said, 

"Ye  waste  no  wit  in  courtesie! 

"As  I  desire,  unto  my  pride, 

Can  I  make  Earls  by  three  and  three, 
To  run  before  and  ride  behind 

And  serve  the  sons  o'  my  body." 

"And  what  care  I  for  your  row-foot  earls, 
'  Or  all  the  sons  o'  your  body? 
Before  they  win  to  the  Pride  o'  Name, 
I  trow  they  all  ask  leave  o'  me. 

"For  I  make  Honor  wi'  muckle  mouth, 

As  I  make  Shame  wi'  mincin'  feet, 
To  sing  wi'  the  priests  at  the  market-cross, 

Or  run  wi'  the  dogs  in  the  naked  street. 

"And  some  they  give  me  the  good  red  gold, 
And  some  they  give  me  the  white  money, 

And  some  they  give  me  a  clout  o'  meal, 
For  they  be  people  o'  low  degree. 

"And  the  song  I  sing  for  the  counted  gold 

The  same  I  sing  for  the  white  money, 
But  best  I  sing  for  the  clout  o'  meal 

That  simple  people  given  me." 

The  King  cast  down  a  silver  groat, 

A  silver  groat  o'  Scots'  money, 
"If  I  come  with  a  poor  man's  dole,"  he  said, 

"True  Thomas,  will  ye  harp  to  me?" 


i66     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"Whenas  I  harp  to  the  children  small, 
They  press  me  close  on  either  hand-: 

And  who  are  you,"  True  Thomas  said, 
"That  you  should  ride  while  they  must  stand? 

"Light  down,  light  down  from  your  horse  o'  pride, 

I  trow  ye  talk  too  loud  and  hie, 
And  I  will  make  you  a  triple  word, 

And  syne,  if  ye  dare,  ye  shall  'noble  me." 

He  has  lighted  down  from  his  horse  o'  pride. 

And  set  his  back  against  the  stone. 
"Now  guard  you  well,"  True  Thomas  said, 

"Ere  I  rax  your  heart  from  your  breast-bone!" 

True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp, 
The  fairy  harp  that  couldna'  lee, 

And  the  first  least  word  the  proud  King  heard, 
It  harpit  the  salt  tear  out  o'  his  ee. 

"Oh,  I  see  the  love  that  I  lost  long  syne, 
I  touch  the  hope  that  I  may  not  see 

And  all  that  I  did  o'  hidden  shame, 
Like  little  snakes  they  hiss  at  me. 

"The  sun  is  lost  at  noon  —  at  noon! 

The  dread  o'  doom  has  grippit  me. 
True  Thomas,  hide  me  under  your  cloak, 

God  wot,  I'm  little  fit  to  dee!" 

'Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above  — 
'Twas  open  field  and  running  flood  — 

Where,  hot  on  heath  and  dyke  and  wall, 
The  high  sun  warmed  the  adder's  brood. 


LAST  RHYME  OF  TRUE  THOMAS  167 

"Lie  down,  lie  down,"  True  Thomas  said. 

"The  God  shall  judge  when  all  is  done; 
But  I  will  bring  you  a  better  word 

And  lift  the  cloud  that  I  laid  on." 

True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp, 

That  birled  and  brattled  to  his  hand, 
And  the  next  least  word  True  Thomas  made, 

It  garred  the  King  take  horse  and  brand. 

"Oh,  I  hear  the  tread  o'  the  fighting-men, 

I  see  the  sun  on  splent  and  spear! 
I  mark  the  arrow  outen  the  fern! 

That  flies  so  low  and  sings  so  clear! 

"Advance  my  standards  to  that  war, 
And  bid  my  good  knights  prick  and  ride; 

The  gled  shall  watch  as  fierce  a  fight , 
As  e'er  was  fought  on  the  Border  side!" 

'Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above, 

'Twas  nodding  grass  and  naked  sky, 
Where,  ringing  up  the  wastrel  wind, 

The  eyass  stooped  upon  the  pye. 

True  Thomas  sighed  above  his  harp, 

And  turned  the  song  on  the  midmost  string 

And  the  last  least  word  True  Thomas  made 
He  harpit  his  dead  youth  back  to  the  King. 

"Now  I  am  prince,  and  I  do  well 

To  love  my  love  withouten  fear: 
To  walk  wi'  man  in  fellowship, 

And  breathe  my  horse  behind  the  deer. 


i68     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"My  hounds  they  bay  unto  the  death, 
The  buck  has  couched  beyond  the  burn, 

My  love  she  waits  at  her  window 
To  wash  my  hands  when  I  return. 

"For  that  I  live  am  I  content 

(Oh!  I  have  seen  my  true  love's  eyes!) 

To  stand  wi'  Adam  in  Eden-glade, 
And  run  in  the  woods  o'  Paradise! 

'Tivas  blue  above  and  bent  below, 

'Twas  nodding  grass  and  naked  wind, 

Where,  checked  against  the  open  pass, 
The  red  deer  turned  to  wait  the  hind. 

True  Thomas  laid  his  harp  away, 
And  louted  low  at  the  saddle-side; 

He  has  taken  stirrup  and  hauden  rein, 
And  set  the  King  on  his  horse  o'  pride. 

"Sleep  ye  or  wake,"  True  Thomas  said, 
"That  sit  so  still,  that  muse  so  long; 

Sleep  ye  or  wake?  —  till  the  latter  sleep 
I  trow  ye'll  not  forget  my  song. 

"I  ha'  harpit  a  shadow  out  o'  the  sun 
To  stand  before  your  face  and  cry; 

I  ha'  armed  the  earth  beneath  your  heel, 
And  over  your  head  I  ha'  dusked  the  sky! 

"I  ha'  harpit  ye  up  to  the  Throne  o'  God, 
I  ha'  harpit  your  secret  soul  in  three; 

I  ha'  harpit  ye  down  to  the  Hinges  o'  Hell, 
And  —  ye  —  would  —  make  —  a  Knight  o'  me ! " 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF 

« 

IT  WAS  her  first  voyage,  and  though  she  was  but  a  cargo- 
steamer  of  twenty-five  hundred  tons,  she  was  the  very 
best  of  her  kind,  the  outcome  of  forty  years  of  experiments 
and  improvements  in  framework  and  machinery;  and  her 
designers  and  owner  thought  as  much  of  her  as  though  she  had 
been  the  Lucania.  Any  one  can  make  a  floating  hotel  that 
will  pay  expenses,  if  he  puts  enough  money  into  the  saloon, 
and  charges  for  private  baths,  suites  of  rooms,  and  such  like; 
but  in  these  days  of  competition  and  low  freights  every  square 
inch  of  a  cargo-boat  must  be  built  for  cheapness,  great  hold- 
capacity,  and  a  certain  steady  speed.  This  boat  was,  perhaps, 
two  hundred  and  forty  feet  long  and  thirty-two  feet  wide, 
with  arrangements  that  enabled  her  to  carry  cattle  on  her 
main  and  sheep  on  her  upper  deck  if  she  wanted  to;  but  her 
great  glory  was  the  amount  of  cargo  that  she  could  store  away 
in  her  holds.  Her  owners  —  they  were  a  very  well-known 
Scotch  firm  —  came  round  with  her  from  the  north,  where  she 
had  been  launched  and  christened  and  fitted,  to  Liverpool, 
where  she  was  to  take  cargo  for  New  York;  and  the  owner's 
daughter,  Miss  Frazier,  went  to  and  fro  on  the  clean  decks, 
admiring  the  new  paint  and  the  brass  work,  and  the  patent 
winches,  and  particularly  the  strong,  straight  bow,  over  which 
she  had  cracked  a  bottle  of  champagne  when  she  named  the 
steamer  the  Dimbula.  It  was  a  beautiful  September  after- 
noon, and  the  boat  in  all  her  newness  —  she  was  painted 

169 


170     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

lead-color  with  a  red  funnel  —  looked  very  fine  indeed.  Her 
house-flag  was  flying,  and  her  whistle  from  time  to  time 
acknowledged  the  salutes  of  friendly  boats,  who  saw  that  she 
was  new  to  the  High  and  Narrow  Seas  and  wished  to  make 
her  welcome. 

"And  now,"  said  Miss  Frazier,  delightedly,  to  the  captain, 
"she's  a  real  ship,  isn't  she?  It  seems  only  the  other  day 
father  gave  the  order  for  her,  and  now  —  and  now  —  isn't  she 
a  beauty!"  The  girl  was  proud  of  the  firm,  and  talked  as 
though  she  were  the  controlling  partner. 

"Oh,  she's  no  so  bad,"  the  skipper  replied  cautiously. 
"But  I'm  sayin'  that  it  takes  more  than  christenin'  to  mak' 
a  ship.  In  the  nature  o'  things,  Miss  Frazier,  if  ye  follow  me, 
she's  just  irons  and  rivets  and  plates  put  into  the  form  of  a 
ship.  She  has  to  find  herself  yet." 

"I  thought  father  said  she  was  exceptionally  well  found." 

"So  she  is,"  said  the  skipper,  with  a  laugh.  "But  it's  this 
way  wi'  ships,  Miss  Frazier.  She's  all  here,  but  the  parrts  of 
her  have  not  learned  to  work  together  yet.  They've  had  no 
chance." 

"The  engines  are  working  beautifully.     I  can  hear  them." 

"Yes,  indeed.  But  there's  more  than  engines  to  a  ship. 
Every  inch  of  her,  ye'll  understand,  has  to  be  livened  up  and 
made  to  work  wi'  its  neighbor  —  sweetenin'  her,  we  call  it, 
technically." 

"And  how  will  you  do  it?"  the  girl  asked. 

"We  can  no  more  than  drive  and  steer  her,  and  so  forth; 
but  if  we  have  rough  weather  this  trip  —  it's  likely  —  she'll 
learn  the  rest  by  heart!  For  a  ship,  ye'll  obsairve,  Miss 
Frazier,  is  in  no  sense  a  reegid  body  closed  at  both  ends.  She's 
a  highly  complex  structure  o'  various  an'  conflictin'  strains, 
wi'  tissues  that  must  give  an'  tak'  accordin'  to  her  per- 
sonal modulus  of  elasteecity."  Mr.  Buchanan,  the  chief 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  171 

engineer,  was  coming  toward  them.  "I'm  sayin'  to  Miss 
Frazier,  here,  that  our  little  Dimbula  has  to  be  sweetened  yet, 
and  nothin'  but  a  gale  will  do  it.  How's  all  wi'  your  engines, 
Buck?" 

"Well  enough  —  true  by  plumb  an'  rule,  o'  course;  but 
there's  no  spontaneeity  yet."  He  turned  to  the  girl.  "Take 
my  word,  Miss  Frazier,  and  maybe  ye'll  comprehend  later; 
even  after  a  pretty  girl's  christened  a  ship  it  does  not  follow 
that  there's  such  a  thing  as  a  ship  under  the  men  that  work 
her." 

"I  was  sayin'  the  very  same,  Mr.  Buchanan,"  the  skipper 
interrupted. 

"That's  more  metaphysical  than  I  can  follow,"  said  Miss 
Frazier,  laughing. 

"Why  so?  Ye're  good  Scotch,  an'  —  I  knew  your  mother's 
father,  he  was  fra'  Dumfries  —  ye've  a  vested  right  in  meta- 
pheesics,  Miss  Frazier,  just  as  ye  have  in  the  Dimbula,"  the 
engineer  said. 

"Eh,  well,  we  must  go  down  to  the  deep  watters,  an'  earn 
Miss  Frazier  her  deevidends.  Will  you  not  come  to  my  cabin 
for  tea?"  said  the  skipper.  "We'll  be  in  dock  the  night,  and 
when  you're  goin'  back  to  Glasgie  ye  can  think  of  us  loadin' 
her  down  an'  drivin'  her  forth  —  all  for  your  sake." 

In  the  next  few  days  they  stowed  some  four  thousand  tons' 
dead  weight  into  the  Dimbula,  and  took  her  out  from  Liver- 
pool. As  soon  as  she  met  the  lift  of  the  open  water,  she 
naturally  began  to  talk.  If  you  lay  your  ear  to  the  side  of  the 
cabin  next  time  you  are  in  a  steamer,  you  will  hear  hundreds 
of  little  voices  in  every  direction,  thrilling  and  buzzing,  and 
whispering  and  popping,  and  gurgling  and  sobbing  and 
squeaking  exactly  like  a  telephone  in  a  thunder-storm. 
Wooden  ships  shriek  and  growl  and  grunt,  but  iron  vessels 
throb  and  quiver  through  all  their  hundreds  of  ribs  and 


172     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

thousands  of  rivets.  The  Dimbula  was  very  strongly  built, 
and  every  piece  of  her  had  a  letter  or  number,  or  both,  to 
describe  it;  and  every  piece  had  been  hammered,  or  forged,  or 
rolled,  or  punched  by  man,  and  had  lived  in  the  roar  and 
rattle  of  the  shipyard  for  months.  Therefore,  every  piece 
had  its  own  separate  voice  in  exact  proportion  to  the  amount 
of  trouble  spent  upon  it.  Cast-iron,  as  a  rule,  says  very  little; 
but  mild  steel  plates  and  wrought-iron,  and  ribs  and  beams 
that  have  been  much  bent  and  welded  and  riveted,  talk  con- 
tinuously. Their  conversation,  of  course,  is  not  half  as  wise 
as  our  human  talk,  because  they  are  all,  though  they  do  not 
know  it,  bound  down  one  to  the  other  in  a  black  darkness, 
where  they  cannot  tell  what  is  happening  near  them,  nor  what 
will  overtake  them  next. 

As  soon  as  she  had  cleared  the  Irish  coast  a  sullen  gray- 
headed  old  wave  of  the  Atlantic  climbed  leisurely  over  her 
straight  bows,  and  sat  down  on  her  steam-capstan  used  for 
hauling  up  the  anchor.  Now  the  capstan  and  the  engine  that 
drove  it  had  been  newly  painted  red  and  green;  besides  which, 
nobody  likes  being  ducked. 

"Don't  you  do  that  again,"  the  capstan  sputtered  through 
the  teeth  of  his  cogs.  "Hi!  Where's  the  fellow  gone? " 

The  wave  had  slouched  overside  with  a  plop  and  a  chuckle; 
but  "Plenty  more  where  he  came  from,"  said  a  brother- wave, 
and  went  through  and  over  the  capstan,  who  was  bolted  firmly 
to  an  iron  plate  on  the  iron  deck-beams  below. 

"Can't  you  keep  still  up  there?"  said  the  deck-beams. 
"What's  the  matter  with  you?  One  minute  you  weigh 
twice  as  much  as  you  ought  to,  and  the  next  you 
don't!" 

"It  isn't  my  fault,"  said  the  capstan.  "There's  a  green 
brute  outside  that  comes  and  hits  me  on  the  head." 

"Tell  that  to  the  shipwrights.     You've  been  in  position 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  173 

for  months  and  you've  never  wriggled  like  this  before.     If 
you  aren't  careful  you'll  strain  us." 

"Talking  of  strain,"  said  a  low,  rasping,  unpleasant  voice, 
"are   any  of  you  fellows  —  you   deck-beams,   we  mean — 
aware  that  those  exceedingly  ugly  knees  of  yours  happens  to 
be  riveted  into  our  structure  —  ours?  " 

"Who  might  you  be?"  the  deck-beams  inquired. 

"Oh,  nobody  in  particular,"  was  the  answer.  "We're 
only  the  port  and  starboard  upper-deck  stringers;  and  if  you 
persist  in  heaving  and  hiking  like  this,  we  shall  be  reluctantly 
compelled  to  take  steps." 

Now  the  stringers  of  the  ship  are  long  iron  girders,  so  to 
speak,  that  run  lengthways  from  stern  to  bow.  They  keep 
the  iron  frames  (what  are  called  ribs  in  a  wooden  ship)  in 
place,  and  also  help  to  hold  the  ends  of  the  deck-beams,  which 
go  from  side  to  side  of  the  ship.  Stringers  always  consider 
themselves  most  important,  because  they  are  so  long. 

"You  will  take  steps  —  will  you?  "  This  was  a  long  echoing 
rumble.  It  came  from  the  frames  —  scores  and  scores  of 
them,  each  one  about  eighteen  inches  distant  from  the  next, 
and  each  riveted  to  the  stringers  in  four  places.  "We  think 
you  will  have  a  certain  amount  of  trouble  in  that;"  and 
thousands  and  thousands  of  the  little  rivets  that  held  every- 
thing together  whispered:  "You  will.  You  will!  Stop 
quivering  and  be  quiet.  Hold  on,  brethren!  Hold  on! 
Hot  Punches!  What's  that?" 

Rivets  have  no  teeth,  so  they  cannot  chatter  with  fright; 
but  they  did  their  best  as  a  fluttering  jar  swept  along  the  ship 
from  stern  to  bow,  and  she  shook  like  a  rat  in  a  terrier's 
mouth. 

An  unusually  severe  pitch,  for  the  sea  was  rising,  had  lifted 
the  big  throbbing  screw  nearly  to  the  surface,  and  it  was 
spinning  round  in  a  kind  of  soda-water  —  half  sea  and  half 


174     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

air  —  going  much  faster  than  was  proper,  because  there  was 
no  deep  water  for  it  to  work  in.     As  it  sank  again,  the  engines 

—  and  they  were  triple  expansion,  three  cylinders  in  a  row  — 
snorted  through  all  their  three  pistons.     "Was  that  a  joke, 
you  fellow  outside?    It's  an  uncommonly  poor  one.     How  are 
we  to  do  our  work  if  you  fly  off  the  handle  that  way?" 

"I  didn't  fly  off  the  handle,"  said  the  screw,  twirling 
huskily  at  the  end  of  the  screw-shaft.  "If  I  had,  you'd  have 
been  scrap-iron  by  this  time.  The  sea  dropped  away  from 
under  me,  and  I  had  nothing  to  catch  on  to.  That's  all." 

"That's  all,  d'you  call  it?"  said  the  thrust-block  whose 
business  it  is  to  take  the  push  of  the  screw;  for  if  a  screw  had 
nothing  to  hold  it  back  it  would  crawl  right  into  the  engine- 
room.  (It  is  the  holding  back  of  the  screwing  action  that 
gives  the  drive  to  a  ship.)  "I  know  I  do  my  work  deep  down 
and  out  of  sight,  but  I  warn  you  I  expect  justice.  All  I  ask 
for  is  bare  justice.  Why  can't  you  push  steadily  and  evenly 
instead  of  whizzing  like  a  whirligig,  and  making  me  hot  under 
all  my  collars."  The  thrust-block  had  six  collars,  each  faced 
with  brass,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  get  them  heated. 

All  the  bearings  that  supported  the  fifty  feet  of  screw-shaft 
as  it  ran  to  the  stern  whispered :  "Justice  —  give  us  justice. 

"I  can  only  give  you  what  I  can  get,"  the  screw  answered. 
' '  Look  out !  It's  coming  again ! ' ' 

He  rose  with  a  roar  as  the  Dimbula  plunged,  and  "whack 

—  flack  —  whack  —  whack"  went  the  engines,  furiously,  for 
they  had  little  to  check  them. 

"I'm  the  noblest  outcome  of  human  ingenuity  —  Mr. 
Buchanan  says  so,"  squealed  the  high-pressure  cylinder. 
"This  is  simply  ridiculous!"  The  piston  went  up  savagely, 
and  choked,  for  half  the  steam  behind  it  was  mixed  with  dirty 
water.  "Help!  Oiler!  Fitter!  Stoker!  Help!  I'm  chok- 
ing," it  gasped.  "Never  in  the  history  of  maritime  invention 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  175 

has  such  a  calamity  overtaken  one  so  young  and  strong.     And 
if  I  go,  who's  to  drive  the  ship?" 

"Hush!  oh,  hush!"  whispered  the  Steam,  who,  of  course, 
had  been  to  sea  many  times  before.  He  used  to  spend. his 
leisure  ashore  in  a  cloud,  or  a  gutter,  or  a  flower-pot,  or  a 
thunder-storm,  or  anywhere  else  where  water  was  needed. 
"That's  only  a  little  priming,  a  little  carrying-over,  as 
they  call  it.  It'll  happen  all  night,  on  and  off.  I  don't 
say  it's  nice,  but  it's  the  best  we  can  do  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

"What  difference  can  circumstances  make?  I'm  here  to 
do  my  work  —  on  clean,  dry  steam.  Blow  circumstances!" 
the  cylinder  roared. 

"The  circumstances  will  attend  to  the  blowing.  I've 
worked  on  the  North  Atlantic  run  a  good  many  tunes  —  it's 
going  to  be  rough  before  morning." 

"It  isn't  distressingly  calm  now,"  said  the  extra-strong 
frames  —  they  were  called  web-frames  —  in  the  engine-room. 
"There's  an  upward  thrust  that  we  don't  understand,  and 
there's  a  twist  that  is  very  bad  for  our  brackets  and  diamond- 
plates,  and  there's  a  sort  of  west-north-westerly  pull  that 
follows  the  twist,  which  seriously  annoys  us.  We  mention 
this  because  we  happened  to  cost  a  good  deal  of  money,  and 
we  feel  sure  that  the  owner  would  not  approve  of  our  being 
treated  in  this  frivolous  way." 

"I'm  afraid  the  matter  is  out  of  owner's  hands  for  the 
present,"  said  the  Steam,  slipping  into  the  condenser.  "You're 
left  to  your  own  devices  till  the  weather  betters." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  the  weather,"  said  a  flat  bass  voice 
below;  "it's  this  confounded  cargo  that's  breaking  my  heart. 
I'm  the  garboard-strake,  and  I'm  twice  as  thick  as  most  of 
the  others,  and  I  ought  to  know  something." 

The  garboard-strake  is  the  lowest  plate  in  the  bottom  of  a 


176     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

ship,  and  the  Dimbula's  garboard-strake  was  nearly  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  mild  steel. 

"The  sea  pushes  me  up  in  a  way  I  should  never  have  ex- 
pected," the  strake  grunted,  "and  the  cargo  pushes  me  down, 
and  between  the  two,  I  don't  know  what  I'm  supposed  to  do." 

"When  in  doubt,  hold  on,"  rumbled  the  Steam,  making 
head  in  the  boilers. 

"Yes;  but  there's  only  dark,  and  cold,  and  hurry,  down 
here;  and  how  do  I  know  whether  the  other  plates  are  doing 
their  duty?  Those  bulwark-plates  up  above,  I've  heard, 
ain't  more  than  five-sixteenths  of  an  inch  thick  —  scandalous, 
I  call  it." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  a  huge  web-frame  by  the  main 
cargo-hatch.  He  was  deeper  and  thicker  than  all  the  others, 
and  curved  halfway  across  the  ship  in  the  shape  of  half  an 
arch,  to  support  the  deck  where  deck  beams  would  have  been 
in  the  way  of  cargo  coming  up  and  down.  "I  work  entirely 
unsupported,  and  I  observe  that  I  am  the  sole  strength  of  this 
vessel,  so  far  as  my  vision  extends.  The  responsibility,  I 
assure  you,  is  enormous.  I  believe  the  money-value  of  the 
cargo  is  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds.  Think 
of  that!" 

"And  every  pound  of  it  is  dependent  on  my  personal  ex- 
ertions." Here  spoke  a  sea- valve  that  communicated  directly 
with  the  water  outside,  and  was  seated  not  very  far  from 
the  garboard-strake.  "I  rejoice  to  think  that  I  am  a  Prince- 
Hyde  Valve,  with  best  Para  rubber  facings.  Five  patents 
cover  me  —  I  mention  this  without  pride  —  five  separate  and 
several  patents,  each  one  finer  than  the  other.  At  present  I 
am  screwed  fast.  Should  I  open,  you  would  immediately  be 
swamped.  This  is  incontrovertible!" 

Patent  things  always  use  the  longest  words  they  can.  It  is 
a  trick  that  they  pick  up  from  their  inventors. 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  177 

"That's  news,"  said  a  big  centrifugal  bilge-pump.  "I  had 
an  idea  that  you  were  employed  to  clean  decks  and  things 
with.  At  least,  I've  used  you  for  that  more  than  once. 
I  forget  the  precise  number,  in  thousands,  of  gallons  which 
I  am  guaranteed  to  throw  per  hour;  but  I  assure  you,  my 
complaining  friends,  that  there  is  not  the  least  danger.  I 
alone  am  capable  of  clearing  any  water  that  may  find  its  way 
here.  By  my  Biggest  Deliveries,  we  pitched  then!" 

The  sea  was  getting  up  in  workmanlike  style.  It  was  a  dead 
westerly  gale,  blown  from  under  a  ragged  opening  of  green 
sky,  narrowed  on  all  sides  by  fat,  gray  clouds;  and  the  wind 
bit  like  pincers  as  it  fretted  the  spray  into  lacework  on  the 
flanks  of  the  waves. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  the  foremast  telephoned  down  its 
wire-stays.  "I'm  up  here,,  and  I  can  take  a  dispassionate  view 
of  things.  There's  an  organized  conspiracy  against  us.  I'm 
sure  of  it,  because  every  single  one  of  these  waves  is  heading 
directly  for  our  bows.  The  whole  sea  is  concerned  in  it  — 
and  so's  the  wind.  It's  awful!" 

"What's  awful?"  said  a  wave,  drowning  the  capstan  for 
the  hundredth  time. 

"This  organized  conspiracy  on  your  part,"  the  capstan 
gurgled,  taking  his  cue  from  the  mast. 

"Organized  bubbles  and  spindrift!  There  has  been  a 
depression  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Excuse  me!"  He  leaped 
overside;  but  his  friends  took  up  the  tale  one  after  another. 

"Which  has  advanced  -  That  wave  hove  green  water 

over  the  funnel. 

"As  far  as  Cape  Hatteras  —  He  drenched  the  bridge. 

"And  is  now  going  out  to  sea  —  to  sea  —  to  sea!"  The 
third  went  free  in  three  surges,  making  a  clean  sweep  of  a  boat, 
which  turned  bottom  up  and  sank  in  the  darkening  troughs 
alongside,  while  the  broken  falls  whipped  the  davits. 


178     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"That's  all  there  is  to  it,"  seethed  the  white  water  roaring 
through  the  scuppers.  "  There's  no  animus  in  our  proceedings. 
We're  only  meteorological  corollaries." 

"Is  it  going  to  get  any  worse?"  said  the  bow-anchor, 
chained  down  to  the  deck,  where  he  could  only  breathe  once 
in  five  minutes. 

"Not  knowing,  can't  say.  Wind  may  blow  a  bit  by  mid- 
night. Thanks  awfully.  Good-bye." 

The  wave  that  spoke  so  politely  had  traveled  some  distance 
aft,  and  found  itself  all  mixed  up  on  the  deck  amidships, 
which  was  a  well-deck  sunk  between  high  bulwarks.  One  of 
the  bulwark-plates,  which  was  hung  on  hinges  to  open  outward, 
had  swung  out,  and  passed  the  bulk  of  the  water  back  to  the 
sea  again  with  a  clean  smack. 

"Evidently  that's  what  I'm  made  for,"  said  the  plate, 
closing  again  with  a  sputter  of  pride.  "  Oh,  no,  you  don't,  my 
friend!" 

The  top  of  a  wave  was  trying  to  get  in  from  the  outside, 
but  as  the  plate  did  not  open  in  that  direction,  the  defeated 
water  spurted  back. 

"Not  bad  for  five-sixteenths  of  an  inch,"  said  the  bulwark- 
plate.  "My  work,  I  see,  is  laid  down  for  the  night;"  and  it 
began  opening  and  shutting,  as  it  was  designed  to  do,  with 
the  motion  of  the  ship. 

"We  are  not  what  you  might  call  idle,"  groaned  all  the 
frames  together,  as  the  Dimbula  climbed  a  big  wave,  lay  on 
her  side  at  the  top,  and  shot  into  the  next  hollow,  twisting 
in  the  descent.  A  huge  swell  pushed  up  exactly  under  her 
middle,  and  her  bow  and  stern  hung  free  with  nothing  to  sup- 
port them.  Then  one  joking  wave  caught  her  up  at  the  bow, 
and  another  at  the  stern,  while  the  rest  of  the  water  slunk 
away  from  under  her  just  to  see  how  she  would  like  it;  so 
she  was  held  up  at  her  two  ends  only,  and  the  weight  of  the 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF          179 

cargo  and  the  machinery  fell  on  the  groaning  iron  keels  and 
bilge-stringers. 

"Ease  off!  Ease  off,  there!"  roared  the  garboard-strake. 
"I  want  one-eighth  of  an  inch  fair  play.  D'you  hear  me, 
you  rivets!" 

"Ease  off!  Ease  off!"  cried  the  bilge-stringers.  "Don't 
hold  us  so  tight  to  the  frames!" 

"Ease  off!"  grunted  the  deck-beams,  as  the  Dimbula  rolled 
fearfully.  "You've  cramped  our  knees  into  the  stringers, 
and  we  can't  move.  Ease  off,  you  flat-headed  little  nui- 
sances.' 

Then  two  converging  seas  hit  the  bows,  one  on  each  side, 
and  fell  away  in  torrents  of  streaming  thunder. 

"Ease  off!"  shouted  the  forward  collision-bulkhead.  "I 
want  to  crumple  up,  but  I'm  stiffened  in  every  direction. 
Ease  off,  you  dirty  little  forge-filings.  Let  me  breathe ! " 

All  the  hundreds  of  plates  that  are  riveted  to  the  frames, 
and  make  the  outside  skin  of  every  steamer,  echoed  the  call, 
for  each  plate  wanted  to  shift  and  creep  a  little,  and  each 
plate,  according  to  its  position,  complained  against  the  rivets. 

"We  can't  help  it!  We  can't  help  it!"  they  murmured  in 
reply.  "We're  put  here  to  hold  you,  and  we're  going  to  do  it; 
you  never  pull  us  twice  in  the  same  direction.  If  you'd  say 
what  you  were  going  to  do  next,  we'd  try  to  meet  your  views." 

"As  far  as  I  could  feel,"  said  the  upper-deck  planking,  and 
that  was  four  inches  thick,  "every  single  iron  near  me  was 
pushing  or  pulling  in  opposite  directions.  Now,  what's  the 
sense  of  that?  My  friends,  let  us  all  pull  together." 

"Pull  any  way  you  please,"  roared  the  funnel,  "so  long 
as  you  don't  try  your  experiments  on  me.  I  need  fourteen 
wire  ropes,  all  pulling  in  different  directions,  to  hold  me 
steady.  Isn't  that  so?  " 

"We  believe  you,   my  boy!"   whistled   the  funnel-stays 


i8o     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

through  their  clinched  teeth,  as  they  twanged  in  the  wind 
from  the  top  of  the  funnel  to  the  deck. 

"Nonsense!  We  must  all  pull  together,"  the  decks  re- 
peated. "Pull  lengthways." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  stringers;  "then  stop  pushing  side- 
ways when  you  get  wet.  Be  content  to  run  gracefully  fore 
and  aft,  and  curve  in  at  the  ends  as  we  do." 

"No  —  no  curves  at  the  end!  A  very  slight  workmanlike 
curve  from  side  to  side,  with  a  good  grip  at  each  knee,  and 
little  pieces  welded  on,"  said  the  deck-beams. 

"Fiddle!"  cried  the  iron  pillars  of  the  deep,  dark  hold. 
"Who  ever  heard  of  curves.     Stand  up  straight;  be  a  per- 
fectly round  column,  and  carry  tons  of  good  solid  weight  — 
like  that!    There!"    A  big  sea  smashed  on  the  deck  above, 
and  the  pillars  stiffened  themselves  to  the  load. 

"Straight  up  and  down  is  not  bad,"  said  the  frames,  who 
ran  that  way  in  the  sides  of  the  ship,  "but  you  must  also 
expand  yourselves  sideways.  Expansion  is  the  law  of  life, 
children.  Open  out!  open  out!'" 

" Come  back! "  said  the  deck-beams,  savagely,  as  the  upward 
heave  of  the  sea  made  the  frames  try  to  open.  "Come  back 
to  your  bearings,  you  slack-jawed  irons!" 

"Rigidity!  Rigidity!  Rigidity!"  thumped  the  engines. 
"Absolute,  unvarying  rigidity  —  rigidity!" 

"You  see!"  whined  the  rivets,  in  chorus.  "No  two  of  you 
will  ever  pull  alike,  and  —  and  you  blame  it  all  on  us.  We 
only  know  how  to  go  through  a  plate  and  bite  down  on  both 
sides  so  that  it  can't,  and  mustn't,  and  shan't  move." 

"I've  got  one-fraction  of  an  inch  play,  at  any  rate,"  said 
the  garboard-strake,  triumphantly.  So  he  had,  and  all  the 
bottom  of  the  ship  felt  the  easier  for  it. 

"Then  we're  no  good,"  sobbed  the  bottom  rivets.  "We 
were  ordered  —  we  were  ordered  —  never  to  give;  and  we've 


given,  and  the  sea  will  come  in,  and  we'll  all  go  to  the 
bottom  together!  First  we're  blamed  for  everything  un- 
pleasant, and  now  we  haven't  the  consolation  of  having  done 
our  work." 

"Don't  say  I  told  you,"  whispered  the  Steam,  consolingly; 
"but,  between  you  and  me  and  the  last  cloud  I  came  from,  it 
was  bound  to  happen  sooner  or  later.  You  had  to  give  a 
fraction,  and  you've  given  without  knowing  it.  Now,  hold 
on  as  before." 

"What's  the  use?  "  a  few  hundred  rivets  chattered.  "We've 
given  —  we've  given;  and  the  sooner  we  confess  that  we  can't 
keep  the  ship  together,  and  go  off  our  little  heads,  the  easier 
it  will  be.  No  rivet  forged  can  stand  this  strain." 

"No  one  rivet  was  ever  meant  to.  Share  it  among  you," 
the  Steam  answered. 

"The  others  can  have  my  share.  I'm  going  to  pull  out," 
said  a  rivet  in  one  of  the  forward  plates. 

" If  you  go,  others  will  follow,"  hissed  the  Steam.  "There's 
nothing  so  contagious  in  a  boat  as  rivets  going.  Why,  I  knew 
a  little  chap  like  you  —  he  was  an  eighth  of  an  inch  fatter, 
though  —  on  a  steamer  —  to  be  sure,  she  was  only  twelve 
hundred  tons,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it  —  in  exactly  the  same 
place  as  you  are.  He  pulled  out  in  a  bit  of  a  bobble  of  a  sea, 
not  half  as  bad  as  this,  and  he  started  all  his  friends  on  the 
same  butt-strap,  and  the  plates  opened  like  a  furnace  door, 
and  I  had  to  climb  into  the  nearest  fog-bank,  while  the  boat 
went  down." 

"Now  that's  peculiarly  disgraceful,"  said  the  rivet.  "Fat- 
ter than  me,  was  he,  and  in  a  steamer  not  half  our  tonnage? 
Reedy  little  peg!  I  blush  for  the  family,  sir."  He  settled 
himself  more  firmly  than  ever  in  his  place,  and  the  Steam 
chuckled. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  quite  gravely,  "a  rivet,  and  espe- 


1 82     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

cially  a  rivet  in  your  position,  is  really  the  one  indispensable 
part  of  the  ship." 

The  Steam  did  not  say  that  he  had  whispered  the  very  same 
thing  to  every  single  piece  of  iron  aboard.  There  is  no  sense 
in  telling  too  much  truth. 

And  all  that  while  the  little  Dimbula  pitched  and  chopped, 
and  swung  and  slewed,  and  lay  down  as  though  she  were  going 
to  die,  and  got  up  as  though  she  had  been  stung,  and  threw 
her  nose  round  and  round  in  circles  half  a  dozen  times  as  she 
dipped;  for  the  gale  was  at  its  worst.  It  was  inky  black,  in 
spite  of  the  tearing  white  froth  on  the  waves,  and,  to  top 
everything,  the  rain  began  to  fall  in  sheets,  so  that  you  could 
not  see  your  hand  before  your  face.  This  did  not  make  much 
difference  to  the  ironwork  below,  but  it  troubled  the  foremast 
a  good  deal. 

"Now  it's  all  finished,"  he  said  dismally.  "The  conspiracy 
is  too  strong  for  us.  There  is  nothing  left  but  to  - 

"Hurraar!  Brrrraaah!  Brrrrrrp!"  roared  the  Steam  through 
the  fog-horn,  till  the  decks  quivered.  "Don't  be  frightened, 
below.  It's  only  me,  just  throwing  out  a  few  words,  in  case 
any  one  happened  to  be  rolling  round  to-night." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  there's  any  one  except  us  on  the 
sea  in  such  weather?"  said  the  funnel  in  a  husky  snuffle. 

"Scores  of  'em,"  said  the  Steam,  clearing  its  throat, 
"Rrrrrraaa!  Brraaaaa!  Prrrrp!  It's  a  trifle  windy  up  here; 
and,  Great  Boilers!  how  it  rains!" 

"We're  drowning,"  said  the  scuppers.  They  had  been 
doing  nothing  else  all  night,  but  this  steady  thrash  of  rain 
above  them  seemed  to  be  the  end  of  the  world. 

"That's  all  right.  We'll  be  easier  in  an  hour  or  two.  First 
the  wind  and  then  the  raini  Soon  you  may  make  sail  again 
Grrraaaaaah!  Drrrraaaa!  Drrrpl  I  have  a  notion  that  the 
sea  is  going  down  already.  If  it  does  you'll  learn  something 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  183 

about  rolling.  We've  only  pitched  till  now.  By  the  way, 
aren't  you  chaps  in  the  hold  a  little  easier  than  you  were?" 

There  was  just  as  much  groaning  and  straining  as  ever,  but 
it  was  not  so  loud  or  squeaky  in  tone;  and  when  the  ship 
quivered  she  did  not  jar  stiffly,  like  a  poker  hit  on  the  floor, 
but  gave  with  a  supple  little  waggle,  like  a  perfectly  balanced 
golf-club. 

"We  have  made  a  most  amazing  discovery,"  said  the 
stringers,  one  after  another.  "A  discovery  that  entirely 
changes  the  situation.  We  have  found,  for  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  shipbuilding,  that  the  inward  pull  of  the 
deck-beams  and  the  outward  thrust  of  the  frames  locks  us, 
as  it  were,  more  closely  in  our  places,  and  enables  us  to  endure 
a  strain  which  is  entirely  without  parallel  in  the  records  of 
marine  architecture." 

The  Steam  turned  a  laugh  quickly  into  a  roar  up  the  fog- 
horn. "What  massive  intellects  you  great  stringers  have," 
he  said  softly,  when  he  had  finished. 

"We  also,"  began  the  deck-beams,  "are  discoverers  and 
geniuses.  We  are  of  opinion  that  the  support  of  the  hold- 
pillars  materially  helps  us.  We  find  that  we  lock  up  on  them 
when  we  are  subjected  to  a  heavy  and  singular  weight  of  sea 
above." 

Here  the  Dimbula  shot  down  a  hollow,  lying  almost  on  her 
side  —  righting  at  the  bottom  with  a  wrench  and  a  spasm. 

"In  these  cases  —  are  you  aware  of  this,  Steam?  —  the 
plating  at  the  bows,  and  particularly  at  the  stern  —  we  would 
also  mention  the  floors  beneath  us  —  help  us  to  resist  any 
tendency  to  spring."  The  frames  spoke,  in  the  solemn,  awed 
voice  which  people  use  when  they  have  just  come  across 
something  entirely  new  for  the  very  first  time. 

"I'm  only  a  poor  puffy  little  flutterer,"  said  the  Steam, 
"but  I  have  to  stand  a  good  deal  of  pressure  in  my  business. 


1 84     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

It's  all  tremendously  interesting.  Tell  us  some  more.  You 
fellows  are  so  strong." 

"Watch  us  and  you'll  see,"  said  the  bow-plates,  proudly. 
" Ready,  behind  there!  Here's  the  Father  and  Mother  of 
Waves  coming!  Sit  tight,  rivets  all!"  A  great  sluicing 
comber  thundered  by,  but  through  the  scuffle  and  confusion 
the  Steam  could  hear  the  low,  quick  cries  of  the  ironwork  as 
the  various  strains  took  them  —  cries  like  these:  "Easy, 
now  —  easy!  Now  push  for  all  your  strength!  Hold  out! 
Give  a  fraction!  Hold  up!  Pull  in!  Shove  crossways! 
Mind  the  strain  at  the  ends!  Grip,  now!  Bite  tight!  Let 
the  water  get  away  from  under  —  and  there  she  goes!" 

The  wave  raced  off  into  the  darkness,  shouting,  "Not  bad, 
that,  if  it's  your  first  run!"  and  the  drenched  and  ducked  ship 
throbbed  to  the  beat  of  the  engines  inside  her.  All  three 
cylinders  were  white  with  the  salt  spray  that  had  come  down 
through  the  engine-room  hatch;  there  was  white  fur  on  the 
canvas-bound  steam-pipes,  and  even  the  bright-work  deep 
below  was  speckled  and  soiled;  but  the  cylinders  had  learned 
to  make  the  most  of  steam  that  was  half  water,  and  were 
pounding  along  cheerfully. 

"How's  the  noblest  outcome  of  human  ingenuity  hitting 
it?"  said  the  Steam,  as  he  whirled  through  the  engine-room. 

"Nothing  for  nothing  in  this  world  of  woe,"  the  cylinders 
answered,  as  though  they  had  been  working  for  centuries, 
"and  precious  little  for  seventy-five  pounds'  head.  We've 
made  two  knots  this  last  hour  and  a  quarter!  Rather 
humiliating  for  eight  hundred  horsepower,  isn't  it?  " 

"Well,  it's  better  than  drifting  astern,  at  any  rate.  You 
seem  rather  less  —  how  shall  I  put  it?  —  stiff  in  the  back  than 
you  were." 

"If  you'd  been  hammered  as  we've  been  this  night,  you 
wouldn't  be  stiff  —  iff  —  iff,  either.  Theoreti  —  retti  —  retti 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  185 

—  cally,  of  course,  rigidity  is  the  thing.    Purrr  —  purr  — 
practically,  there  has  to  be  a  little  give  and  take.     We  found 
that  out  by  working  on  our  sides  for  five  minutes  at  a  stretch  — 
chch  —  chh.    How's  the  weather?" 

"Sea's  going  down  fast,"  said  the  Steam. 

' '  Good  business, ' '  said  the  high-pressure  cylinder.  ' '  Whack 
her  up,  boys.  They've  given  us  five  pounds  more  steam;" 
and  he  began  humming  the  first  bars  of  "Said  the  Young 
Obadiah  to  the  Old  Obadiah,"  which,  as  you  may  have  noticed, 
is  a  pet  tune  among  engines  not  built  for  high  speed.  Racing- 
liners  with  twin-screws  sing  "The  Turkish  Patrol,"  and  the 
overture  to  the  "Bronze  Horse,"  and  "Madame  Angot,"  till 
something  goes  wrong,  and  then  they  render  Gounod's 
"Funeral  March  of  a  Marionette,"  with  variations. 

"You'll  learn  a  song  of  your  own  some  fine  day,"  said  the 
Steam,  as  he  flew  up  the  fog-horn  for  one  last  bellow. 

Next  day  the  sky  cleared  and  the  sea  dropped  a  little,  and 
the  Dimbula  began  to  roll  from  side  to  side  till  every  inch  of 
iron  in  her  was  sick  and  giddy.  But  luckily  they  did  not  all 
feel  ill  at  the  same  time :  otherwise  she  would  have  opened  out 
like  a  wet  paper  box. 

The  Steam  whistled  warnings  as  he  went  about  his  busi- 
ness: it  is  in  this  short,  quick  roll  and  tumble  that  follows 
heavy  sea  that  most  of  the  accidents  happen,  for  then  every- 
thing thinks  that  the  worst  is  over  and  goes  off  guard.  So 
he  orated  and  chattered  till  the  beams  and  frames  and  floors 
and  stringers  and  things  had  learned  how  to  lock  down  and 
lock  up  on  one  another,  and  endure  this  new  kind  of  strain. 

They  found  ample  time  to  practise,  for  they  were  sixteen 
days  at  sea,  and  it  was  foul  weather  till  within  a  hundred  miles 
of  New  York.  The  Dimbula  picked  up  her  pilot  and  came 
in  covered  with  salt  and  red  rust.  Her  funnel  was  dirty  gray 
from  top  to  bottom;  two  boats  had  been  carried  away;  three 


1 86     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

copper  ventilators  looked  like  hats  after  a  fight  with  the  police; 
the  bridge  had  a  dimple  in  the  middle  of  it;  the  house  that 
covered  the  steam  steering-gear  was  split  as  with  hatchets; 
there  was  a  bill  for  small  repairs  in  the  engine-room  almost  as 
long  as  the  screw-shaft;  the  forward  cargo-hatch  fell  into 
bucket-staves  when  they  raised  the  iron  cross-bars;  and  the 
steam-capstan  had  been  badly  wrenched  on  its  bed.  Alto- 
gether, as  the  skipper  said,  it  was  "a  pretty  general  average." 

''But  she's  soupled,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Buchanan.  "For  all 
her  dead  weight  she  rode  like  a  yacht.  Ye  mind  that  last 
blow  off  the  Banks?  I  am  proud  of  her,  Buck." 

"It's  vera  good,"  said  the  chief  engineer,  looking  along 
the  disheveled  decks.  "Now,  a  man  judgin'  superfeecially 
would  say  we  were  a  wreck,  but  we  know  otherwise  —  by 
experience." 

Naturally  everything  in  the  Dimbula  fairly  stiffened  with 
pride,  and  the  foremast  and  the  forward  collision-bulkhead 
who  are  pushing  creatures,  begged  the  Steam  to  warn  the  Port 
of  New  York  of  their  arrival.  "Tell  those  big  boats  all  about 
us,"  they  said.  "They  seem  to  take  us  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

It  was  a  glorious,  clear,  dead  calm  morning,  and  in  single 
file,  with  less  than  half  a  mile  between  each,  their  bands 
playing  and  their  tugboats  shouting  and  waving  handker- 
chiefs, were  the  Majestic,  the  Paris,  the  Touraine,  the  Servia, 
the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II,  and  the  Werkendam,  all  statelily 
going  out  to  sea.  As  the  Dimbula  shifted  her  helm  to  give 
the  great  boats  clear  way,  the  Steam  (who  knows  far  too  much 
to  mind  making  an  exhibition  of  himself  now  and  then) 
shouted : 

"Oyez!  Oyez!  Oyez!  Princes,  Dukes,  and  Barons  of 
the  High  Seas !  Know  ye  by  these  presents,  we  are  the 
Dimbula,  fifteen  days  nine  hours  from  Liverpool,  having 


THE  SHIP  THAT  FOUND  HERSELF  187 

crossed  the  Atlantic  with  four  thousand  ton  of  cargo  for  the 
first  time  in  our  career!  We  have  not  foundered.  We  are 
here.  'Eer!  'Eer!  We  are  not  disabled.  But  we  have  had 
a  time  wholly  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  shipbuilding! 
Our  decks  were  swept !  We  pitched;  we  rolled!  We  thought 
we  were  going  to  die!  Hi!  Hi!  But  we  didn't.  We  wish  to 
give  notice  that  we  have  come  to  New  York  all  the  way  across 
the  Atlantic  through  the  worst  weather  in  the  world;  and  we 
are  the  Dimbula!  We  are  —  arr  —  ha  —  ha  —  ha-r-r-r ! " 

The  beautiful  line  of  boats  swept  by  as  steadily  as  the 
procession  of  the  Seasons.  The  Dimbula  heard  the  Majestic 
say,  "Hmph!"  and  the  Paris  grunted,  "How!"  and  the 
Touraine  said,  "Oui!"  with  a  little  coquettish  flicker  of  steam; 
and  the  Servia  said,  "Haw!"  and  the  Kaiser  and  the  Wer ken- 
dam  said,  "Hoch!"  Dutch  fashion  —  and  that  was  absolutely 
all. 

"I  did  my  best,"  said  the  Steam,  gravely,  "but  I  don't 
think  they  were  much  impressed  with  us,  somehow.  Do 
you?" 

"It's  simply  disgusting,"  said  the  bow-plates.  "They 
might  have  seen  what  we've  been  through.  There  isn't  a 
ship  on  the  sea  that  has  suffered  as  we  have  —  is  there,  now?  " 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,"  said  the  Steam,  "be- 
cause I've  worked  on  some  of  those  boats,  and  sent  them 
through  weather  quite  as  bad  as  the  fortnight  that  we've  had, 
in  six  days;  and  some  of  them  are  a  little  over  ten  thousand 
tons,  I  believe.  Now  I've  seen  the  Majestic,  for  instance, 
ducked  from  her  bows  to  her  funnel;  and  I've  helped  the 
Arizona,  I  think  she  was,  to  back  off  an  iceberg  she  met  with 
one  dark  night;  and  I  had  to  run  out  of  the  Paris' s  engine- 
room,  one  day,  because  there  was  thirty  foot  of  water  in  it. 
Of  course,  I  don't  deny  -  The  Steam  shut  off  suddenly, 

as  a  tugboat,  loaded  with  a  political  club  and  a  brass  band, 


i88     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

that  had  been  to  see  a  New  York  Senator  off  to  Europe,  crossed 
their  bows,  going  to  Hoboken.  There  was  a  long  silence  that 
reached,  without  a  break,  from  the  cut-water  to  the  propeller- 
blades  of  the  Dimbula. 

Then  a  new,  big  voice  said  slowly  and  thickly,  as  though  the 
owner  had  just  waked  up:  "It's  my  conviction  that  I  have 
made  a  fool  of  myself." 

The  Steam  knew  what  had  happened  at  once;  for  when  a 
ship  finds  herself,  all  the  talking  of  separate  pieces  ceases 
and  melts  into  one  voice,  which  is  the  soul  of  the  ship. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  / 

"I  am  the  Dimbula,  of  course.  I've  never  been  anything 
else  except  that  —  and  a  fool!" 

The  tugboat,  which  was  doing  its  very  best  to  be  run  down, 
got  away  just  in  time,  its  band  playing  clashily  and  brassily  a 
popular  but  impolite  air: 

In  the  days  of  old  Rameses  —  are  you  on? 

In  the  days  of  old  Rameses  —  are  you  on? 

In  the  days  of  old  Rameses, 

That  story  had  paresis, 

Are  you  on  —  are  you  on  —  are  you  on? 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you've  found  yourself,"  said  the  Steam. 
"To  tell  the  truth  I  was  a  little  tired  of  talking  to  all  those 
ribs  and  stringers.  Here's  Quarantine.  After  that  we'll 
go  to  out  wharf  and  clean  up  a  little,  and  —  next  month  we'll 
do  it  all  over  again." 


THE  BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST 

(1889) 

OH,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  twain 
shall  meet, 
Till  Earth   and  Sky  stand   presently   at  God's  great 

Judgment  Seat; 

But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed,  nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they  come  from  the 
ends  of  the  earth! 

Kamal  is  out  with  twenty  men  to  raise  the  Borderside, 

And  he  has  lifted  the  Colonel's  mare  that  is  the  Colonel's 

pride : 
He  has  lifted  her  out  of  the  stable-door  between  the  dawn  and 

the  day, 

And  turned  the  calkins  upon  her  feet,  and  ridden  her  far  away. 
Then  up  and  spoke  the  Colonel's  son  that  led  a  troop  of  the 

Guides : 
"Is  there  never  a  man  of  all  my  men  can  say  where  Kamal 

hides?" 
Then  up  and  spoke  Mohammed  Khan,  the  son  of  the  Res- 

saldar: 
"If  ye  know  the  track  of  the  morning-mist,  ye  know  where 

his  pickets  are. 

189 


190     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"At  dusk  he  harries  the  Abazai  —  at  dawn  he  is  into  Bonair, 
"But  he  must  go  by  Fort  Bukloh  to  his  own  place  to  fare; 
"  So  if  ye  gallop  to  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast  as  a  bird  can  fly, 
"By  the  favor  of  God  ye  may  cut  him  off  ere  he  win  to  the 

Tongue  of  Jagai. 
"But  if  he  be  past  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  right  swiftly  turn 

ye  then, 
"For  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  that  grisly  plain  is  sown 

with  Kamal's  men. 
"There  is  rock  to  the  left,  and  rock  to  the  right,  and  low  lean 

thorn  between, 
"And  ye  may  hear  a  breech-bolt  snick  where  never  a  man  is 

seen." 
The  Colonel's  son  has  taken  a  horse,  and  a  raw  rough  dun 

was  he, 
With  the  mouth  of  a  bell  and  the  heart  of  Hell  and  the  head 

of  a  gallows-tree. 

The  Colonel's  son  to  the  Fort  has  won,  they  bid  him  stay  to  eat — 
Who  rides  at  the  tail  of  a  Border  thief,  he  sits  not  long  at  his 

meat. 

He's  up  and  away  from  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast  as  he  can  fly, 
Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  in  the  gut  of  the  Tongue 

of  Jagai, 
Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  with  Kamal  upon  her 

back, 
And  when  he  could  spy  the  white  of  her  eye,  he  made  the  pistol 

crack. 
He  has  fired  once,  he  has  fired  twice,  but  the  whistling  ball 

went  wide. 
"Ye  shoot  like  a  soldier,"  Kamal  said.     "Show  now  if  ye 

can  ride." 

It's  up  and  over  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  as  blown  dust-devils  go, 
The  dun  he  fled  like  a  stag  of  ten,  but  the  mare  like  a  barren  doe. 


BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST  191 

The  dun  he  leaned  against  the  bit  and  slugged  his  head  above, 
But  the  red  mare  played  with  the  snaffle-bars,  as  a  maiden 

plays  with  a  glove. 
There  was  rock  to  the  left,  and  rock  to  the  right,  and  low  lean 

thorn  between, 
And  thrice  he  heard  a  breech-bolt  snick  tho'  never  a  man  was 

seen. 
They  have  ridden  the  low  moon  out  of  the  sky,  their  hoofs 

drum  up  the  dawn, 

The  dun  he  went  like  a  wounded  bull,  but  the  mare  like  a  new- 
roused  fawn. 

The  dun  he  fell  at  a  water-course  —  in  a  woeful  heap  fell  he, 
And  Kamal  has  turned  the  red  mare  back,  and  pulled  the  rider 

free. 
He  has  knocked  the  pistol  out  of  his  hand  —  small  room  was 

there  to  strive, 
"Twas  only  by  favor  of  mine/'  quoth  he  "ye  rode  so  long 

alive: 
"There  was  not  a  rock  for  twenty  mile,  there  was  not  a  clump 

of  tree, 
"But  covered  a  man  of  my  own  men  with  his  rifle  cocked  on 

his  knee. 

"If  I  had  raised  my  bridle-hand,  as  I  have  held  it  low, 
"The  little  jackals  that  flee  so  fast  were  feasting  all  in  a  row: 
"  If  I  had  bowed  my  head  on  my  breast,  as  I  have  held  it  high, 
"The  kite  that  whistles  above  us  now  were  gorged  till  she 

could  not  fly." 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son:    "Do  good  to  bird  and 

beast, 
"But  count  who  come  for  the  broken  meats  before  thou  makest 

a  feast. 
"If  there  should  follow  a  thousand  swords  to  carry  my  bones 

away, 


192     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

"Belike  the  price  of  a  jackal's  meal  were  more  than  a  thief 

could  pay. 
"They  will  feed  their  horse  on  the  standing  crop,   their  men 

on  the  garnered  grain, 
"The  thatch  of  the  byres  will  serve  their  fires  when  all  the 

cattle  are  slain. 
"But  if  thou  thinkest  the  price  be  fair — thy  brethren  wait  to 

sup, 
"The  hound  is  kin  to  the  jackal-spawn  —  howl,  dog,  and  call 

them  up! 
"And  if  thou  thinkest  the  price  be  high,  in  steer  and  gear  and 

stack, 
"  Give  me  my  father's  mare  again,  and  I'll  fight  my  own  way 

back!" 

Kamal  has  gripped  him  by  the  hand  and  set  him  upon  his  feet. 
"No  talk  shall  be  of  dogs,"  said  he,  "when  wolf  and  gray 

wolf  meet. 

"  May  I  eat  dirt  if  thou  hast  hurt  of  me  in  deed  or  breath; 
"What  dam  of  lances  brought  thee  forth  to  jest  at  the  dawn 

with  Death?" 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son:     "I  hold  by  the  blood  of 

my  clan: 
"Take  up  the  mare  for  my  father's  gift  —  by  God,  she  has 

carried  a  man!" 
The  red  mare  ran  to  the  Colonel's  son,  and  nuzzled  against 

his  breast; 
"We  be  two  strong  men,"  said  Kamal  then,  "but  she  loveth 

the  younger  best. 
"So  she  shall  go  with  a  lifter's  dower,  my  turquoise-studded 

rein, 
"My  broidered  saddle  and  saddle-cloth,  and  silver  stirrups 

'twain.' 
The  Colonel's  son  a  pistol  drew,  and  held  it  muzzle-end, 


BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST  193 

"Ye  have  taken  the  one  from  a  foe,"  said  he;  "will  ye  take 

the  mate  from  a  friend?" 
"A  gift  for  a  gift,"  said  Kamal  straight;  "a  limb  for  the  risk 

of  a  limb. 

"Thy  father  has  sent  his  son  to  me,  I'll  send  my  son  to  him!" 
With  that  he  whistled  his  only  son,  that  dropped  from  a 

mountain-crest  — 
He  trod  the  ling  like  a  buck  in  spring,  and  he  looked  like  a 

lance  in  rest. 
"Now  here  is  thy  master,"  Kamal  said,  "who  leads  a  troop 

of  the  Guides, 
"And  thou  must  ride  at  his  left  side  as  shield  on  shoulder 

rides. 
"Till  Death  or  I  cut  loose  the  tie,  at  camp  and  board  and 

bed, 

"Thy  life  is  his  —  thy  fate,  it  is  to  guard  him  with  thy  head. 
"So,  thou  must  eat  the  White  Queen's  meat,  and  all  her  foes 

are  thine, 
"And  thou  must  harry  thy  father's  hold  for  the  peace  of  the 

Border-line 
"And  thou  must  make  a  trooper  tougn,  and  hack  thy  way  to 

power  — 
"  Belike  they  will  raise  thee  to  Ressaldar  when  I  am  hanged  in 

Peshawur." 
They  have  looked  each  other  between  the  eyes,  and  there  they 

found  no  fault, 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood  on  leavened 

bread  and  salt: 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood  on  fire  and 

fresh-cut  sod, 
On  the  hilt  and  the  haft  of  the  Khyber  knife,  and  the  Won 

drous  Names  of  God. 


i94     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

The  Colonel's    son   he   rides  the   mare   and   Kamal's   boy 

the  dun, 
And  two  have  come  back  to  Fort  Bukloh  where  there  went 

forth  but  one. 
And  when  they  drew  to  the  Quarter-Guard,  full  twenty 

swords  flew  clear  — 
There  was  not  a  man  but  carried  his  feud  with  the  blood  of 

the  mountaineer. 
"Ha'  done!  ha'  done!"  said  the  Colonel's  son.     "Put  up  the 

steel  at  your  sides! 
"Last  night  ye  had  struck  at  a  Border  thief  —  to-night  'tis 

a  man  of  the  Guides!" 

Oh,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  twain  shall 

meet, 
Till  Earth  and  Sky  stand  presently  at  God's  great  Judgment 

Seat; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed,  nor 

Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they  come  from 

the  ends  of  the  earth! 


RECESSIONAL 


GOD  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old, 
Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle-line, 
Beneath  whose  awful  Hand  we  hold 
Dominion  over  palm  and  pine  - 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget  ! 

The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies; 

The  captains  and  the  kings  depart: 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice, 

An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart. 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget! 

Far-called,  our  navies  melt  away; 

On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire: 
Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 

Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre! 
Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget! 

195 


196     KIPLING  READER  FOR  UPPER  GRADES 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 
Wild  tongues  that  have  not  Thee  in  awe, 

Such  boastings  as  the  Gentiles  use, 
Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law  - 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget ! 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard, 

All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 
And  guarding,  calls  not  Thee  to  guard, 

For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word  — 

Thy  Mercy  on  Thy  People,  Lord! 

Amen. 


THE   END 


THREE  STORIES  OF  PRIMITIVE  LIFE 

The  Cave  Boy  of  the  Age  of  Stone. 

By  MARGARET  A.  MC!NTYRE.    Illustrated.    i2mo. 
Cloth,  40  cents. 

The  Cave  Boy  is  one  of  a  series  of  stories  for  Primary  Grades 
that  teems  with  interest  for  children  from  beginning  to  end.  To 
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Lodrix,  the  Little  Lake  Dweller. 

By  BELLE  WILEY  and  GRACE  WILLARD  EDICK. 
Illustrated.  I2mo.  Cloth,  30  cents. 

A  charming  story  of  a  people  who  lived  in  lake  houses  hidden 
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Children  of  the  Cliff. 

By  the  same  authors.  Illustrated.  I2mo.  Cloth, 
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to  a  family  of  the  Bear  tribe,  who  lived  high  up  on  rocky  cliffs  in  a 
land  where  there  were  no  trees  and  nothing  but  rocks  and  sand. 
These  two  little  children  were  lost,  but  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
friendly  neighboring  tribe,  from  whom  they  learned  many  novel  and 
interesting  things  before  they  were  restored  to  their  parents. 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 

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The  Carroll  and  Brooks  Readers 

By  CLARENCE  F.  CARROLL,  Superintendent  of 
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